


Windfalls Supplemental Material

by ioanite



Series: Windfalls [2]
Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester, Treasure Planet (2002)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Community: disney_kink, Crossover, F/M, Humor, Mild Smut, Prompt Fill, Warning: Mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-06 21:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 38,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ioanite/pseuds/ioanite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A follow-up to my "Windfalls" fic. It features scenes from Amelia and Horatio's life, some fluffy, some sexy, some slightly dark. But through it all, they remain the same slightly oddball couple they've always been. Complete, but will be updated on occasion as I get bit by plot bunnies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Day Before--Amelia and Archie

**Author's Note:**

> These stories have been posted in chronological order. Thus, this story takes place BEFORE "Windfalls."
> 
> The fic itself came about because of a challenge on the LJ Hornblower community following_sea. Specifically, what were characters doing the day before Horatio came into their lives? At that point, I had written all of "Windfalls", so was still in that mindset, and wanted to do something with it...

Amelia Drake rubbed her temples and looked over her latest set of orders yet again. She’d read them over a dozen times since she’d first received them and she _still_ was in disbelief over them. Why did the Admiralty get it into their heads every so often that what she needed was another ship to mollycoddle and teach the basics of privateer hunting to? She worked best when she was on her own, so unless this was some misguided effort to get her to interact with the rest of the navy, these efforts were utterly pointless. All it meant was that she would have to grit her teeth and dispose of the wig, forced by the nature of the alliance to be upfront about her shortcomings. It always followed the same cycle; shock, demands for an explanation, patronizing attempts at sympathy, and finally a grudging acceptance. She was always glad to see the backs of them.

This latest ship seemed especially unpromising. A nice big ship of the line, perhaps, but that just made it unwieldy and hard to keep up with the privateers. And any man who walked around with a last name like “Hornblower” was either supremely confident in himself and his abilities or some whining little man who only got this position because he knew someone in the right circles. Either way, she was looking forward to finding his weak spots and subtly jabbing at them until he understood that she was, after all, a force to be reckoned with.

***

Archie gazed out over the _Legacy_ and her crew, supposedly supervising but actually lost in thought. If the (extremely bitter) briefing Amelia had given the officers was correct, their support ship would be arriving any day now. Over dinner that night, she had railed against being treated like some sort of tutor, asked to single-handedly train the entire British navy to catch French privateers. He’d done his best to be sympathetic, but throughout it all, there was a niggling thought in his head that he couldn’t silence; was it _that_ Captain Hornblower?

He’d been doing his best to keep track of Horatio’s career, but they’d been at sea for a while now, and it was hard to get hold of copies of naval gazettes. The last he’d heard, Horatio had pulled off a massive coup by defeating a ship that outgunned him. Even the basic outline of the battle had been enough to get Archie’s heart racing. The _Legacy’s_ fights with privateers were all well and good, but a battle like that was the stuff heroes were made of. If Horatio had finally been promoted to a ship of the line, then it was well deserved.

The question, of course, was what he would do if it _was_ Horatio. Well, explaining that he’d actually been alive all this time was a good start. Where he went from there all depended on how Horatio took the news. The Hornblower he knew suffered from a bit of a guilt complex, and possibly had been blaming himself for Archie’s death for years. To have all that taken away…there was no telling _what_ Horatio would do.

But that was a question for another day. For now, he had to focus on getting the ship ready for the new arrival and on keeping Amelia from breaking things in frustration.


	2. Perseid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is supposed to take place sometime during "Windfalls"

As soon as Amelia steps out of her cabin and looks up at the sky, she knows tonight is a perfect night. She immediately calls for the flags to be raised, requesting Horatio’s presence. Part of her doesn’t care if he comes or not, but she wants him there. She wants to share this with him.

Horatio arrives fifteen minutes later, puzzled by her unexpected summons. Squeezing his hand gently, she crosses to the mast and grabs the ratlines. “Follow me.”

She knows he’s hesitating—he claims he’s less nervous than he used to be, but old habits die hard—but his curiosity wins out, and he comes to her side. Amelia smiles and scrambles up to the fighting top, sending the man on watch to a different mast. While she waits for Horatio to join her, she takes a deep breath and looks at her surroundings. No moon, and if you position yourself just right, the shrouds won’t block your vision. Yes, very much the perfect night.

A hand brushing against her shoulder sends her out of her reverie. “Why did you call me here?” Horatio asks softly, as if he already partway understands. She turns to him and gestures to the wooden slats beneath them. “Lie down,” she murmurs, “Lie down and look up.”

He obeys her, the wood creaking as he shifts positions. Amelia joins him a moment later, spreading out her cloak to provide a bit of a cushion. Then she lays a hand on his arm and just looks up at the sky.

Away from the lanterns on deck, away from any city’s glow, the sky is littered with stars. She can even see the Milky Way, trailing away from her towards civilization. She fixes her eyes on a bright point just above her and feels as though a canopy of stars is draped over her. Nights like these make her wonder how _anybody_ ever thought the world was flat.

Then the first star streaks overhead, and she hears Horatio’s soft intake of breath. “ _That’s_ why I called you.” she whispers, squeezing his arm. She’s done this every year, ever since she was a young midshipman transfixed by the trails of light that suddenly arced over the ship. Before now, she always found a way to be alone, just her and the stars. But she wanted Horatio with her this time, to let him in on one of her rituals. It just felt _right_ , somehow.

Another star zips past, only there for a second or two. Two more follow in short succession. It’s another few minutes before more appear, but Amelia has, as always, lost track of the time. The night is just cold enough to keep her alert, but otherwise warm enough for her to lie there comfortably as she seeks out more stars. She can feel Horatio next to her, his shoulder barely touching hers, but otherwise, it’s as if he isn’t there. Neither of them seems to mind.

It’s not until the bells ring the hour that she finally, reluctantly, sits up. Horatio turns his head to look at her. “We can’t afford to waste much time when there’s a war on.” she says apologetically. Grabbing the ratlines, she takes one last look at the sky (and is rewarded with a falling star for her effort), and climbs down to the deck once again. When Horatio rejoins her, she touches his hand. “Forgive a Captain her silly whim,” she says, “But it’s not often we might get a chance to share this.”

 Horatio just smiles. Then he glances over his shoulder to make sure no one’s watching, steps forward, and kisses her. Stroking her face, he nods and steps away to call for his boat. She watches him go, smiling herself, even though she’s only just become aware of how cold her skin _really_ is.

When, years later, Horatio takes pains to purchase a house away from the city and with an unobstructed view of the sky, Amelia knows, for certain, that she’s found a kindred spirit.


	3. Property

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out, all the stories take place after "Windfalls."
> 
> This fic was again inspired by a challenge from following_sea; namely, write a fic incorporating flowery undergarments (as inspired by a quote from a nautical book a mod had read).

Hornblower found out about it unexpectedly. Amelia had rushed out to make a visit to her ship, which was in the process of taking on more supplies in preparation for setting sail, and had been caught in a sudden storm. She returned to the rooms she shared with Hornblower positively soaking wet, her wig sliding off one side of her head. “Bloody summer storms!” she said, yanking it off, “They’re worse than Frenchmen! You can’t discipline them for insubordination!”

Hornblower made a few sympathetic noises. “Best to get out of those wet clothes. Are you planning on going out again?”

Amelia shook her head. “Things are progressing apace. I’ll check in again tomorrow. No, it’s a towel down for me, and then I’ll probably just stay in my dressing gown.”

Hornblower smiled. “Need any help?”

She shot him a sly look over her shoulder as she stripped off her coat. “Perhaps I might, at that.” Hornblower rested his chin on his hand, admiring Amelia as she divested herself of her shirt, cravat, boots, and stockings. She had just bent over to wiggle out of her breeches when he saw it; a pale green line of thread at the top of her undergarments, followed by a bright red spot. He squinted and leaned forward a little. It wasn’t just mere thread. There appeared to be delicate tendrils of ivy coiling around the waist of the drawers, with a red rose right in the center. “Amelia…there appears to be a flower on your, well…pants.”

She straightened up, tugging off the breeches. “Oh, yes, I know. Fine work, or at least I like to think that it is.”

Hornblower could not stop staring. “That’s just…but how…”

Amelia laughed and turned to face him. “Oh, that’s nothing. Take a look at _this_!” Hornblower’s eyes widened further.

It wasn’t just the back of her drawers; all around the border of her waist, and down both sides of her legs, were various multi-colored flowers, all tied together by strands of ivy. “What _is_ this?” Hornblower said, both admiring and puzzling over it.

Amelia draped a towel over her shoulders and sauntered to the bed. “Just a little hobby of mine that got out of hand.”

“ _You_ did this?” Hornblower said, coming over to the bed to get a closer look. Amelia obliged him by stretching out and turning on her side, presenting her hip for his inspection. “Of course I did this! Do you think I’d entrust anyone else to embroider flowers on my knickers?”

Hornblower reached out tentatively and ran his fingers over the thread. The flowers weren’t particularly detailed, but one could recognize petals and stamens, and besides, the varied colors drew attention away from the designs. “Why?”

“Ah, now _that_ is a story. I may have had an unconventional childhood, but at least a pretense was made of raising me like a lady. So I was taught music, gardening, and sewing, especially embroidery. When I took off to the Navy, I knew that if any of my clothes were torn, I’d need to fix them myself, and thus kept my sewing skills sharp. After I was discovered, I was forced to confront, for the first time since I’d signed on, what would happen to me when I left the Navy. While I would hopefully have enough prize money to live on, I felt it might be best to continue to work on my embroidery, so I could supplement my income if necessary. But where to practice? I quickly ran out of handkerchiefs to sew, and I didn’t feel comfortable adding patterns to my jacket. The only option, therefore, were my underdrawers.”

“Remarkable,” Hornblower said, “Could I see the other side?”

Amelia obliged him. “I kept it simple on most of my other drawers; little curlicues and other neutral designs, in black or grey, limited to the waist. But flowers, of course, are the most popular designs in civilian fashion, so I knew I had to keep my hand in. When I got a new pair a year ago, I bought some green thread and set to work on the ivy. It was slow work, initially, but I was quite enamored of how it turned out. And that was when I thought; why not have a spark of color in your clothing? Why not include a few flowers? I bought more thread in all sorts of shades, and whenever I had the time, sewed whatever took my fancy. I ended up being loath to give the project up, and once I finished the waist, I started following the seams down and up my legs. I believe I would have covered the whole thing if I hadn’t realized that it would look like I was wearing a jungle. So I left it at what you see now. To be quite honest, it’s my favorite piece.”

Hornblower ran his hand up her inseam, giving her a conspiratorial look. “I believe it’s mine as well.”

“Mmm…” Amelia said, as his hands moved up to her ears, “If I’d known you would react like this, I’d have let you see these a long time ago.”

***

It became a bit of a joke between them. Whenever they made arrangements to meet, Hornblower would add in a postscript “Be sure to tend your garden.” Amelia seemed to be as amused about it as he was. “When we finally purchase a house for our post-war years, I know exactly which seeds to purchase for our grounds.” she teased as his fingers yet again ran over the blue forget-me-nots on her hip. Hornblower thought it was an excellent idea.

He shouldn’t have been surprised, therefore, when a package from Amelia arrived for him one week. Nevertheless, he started when he parted the paper and found two new underthings folded neatly inside. There was a note attached, and he picked it up first.

 

_Horatio,_

_Why should you have all the fun? Besides, it helps me keep my hand in._

_Yours,_

_Amelia_

 

Hornblower immediately picked up one of the drawers and examined them. The colors were fairly simple—yellow, blue, dark grey, and brown—but the patterns were rather impressive. She’d stitched ocean waves around the waist, and intricate, multi-colored curlicues down the legs (she’d resisted the temptation to do the inseam this time). Hornblower nodded his approval and turned his attention to the second pair. Amelia had gotten a little more intricate with this one, sewing all kinds of geometric shapes across the legs, perhaps in honor of Hornblower’s mathematical skills. Around the waist, however, she had sewn the familiar tendrils of ivy, broken here and there by simple blue and red flowers. Hornblower laughed at the sight. He had no objections to sporting flowers on his waist—he’d seen captains with far more elaborate embroidery at this point—and besides, it was subtle enough that most of his crew wouldn’t even notice. He set down the drawers and drafted a letter to Amelia immediately, thanking her for the gift.

 He didn’t get around to actually _wearing_ the drawers until a week or two later. When he finally did, he took a moment to examine himself in the mirror, admiring the needlework on the ocean waves once more. Then he slipped on his breeches and thought no more about it. If he _did_ spare a thought for them, it was to remind himself to do the same thing with the other pair. After all, he had more important things to concern himself with than his undergarments.

The next day, he was before the mirror in his second pair, examining the stitch work on the ivy, when he noticed something. Two of the red flowers had—there was no other word for it—unfolded when he put the drawers on, and had transformed into a pair of pointed cat ears. He took off the drawers and stretched them out, squinting at them closely; now that they were at his eye level, he realized that those particular flowers were the same shade of red as Amelia’s hair. Puzzled, but admittedly amused, he put them on once more and decided to ask Amelia about it when they next got some time together. This was one of those questions that was best asked in person.

***

“I see you’ve been planning out trajectories,” Amelia remarked as Hornblower undressed and she caught sight of her handiwork, “Do you like them?”

 “They’ve been quite useful,” Hornblower said, “But there is one thing I’m curious about.”

“Oh?”

He turned around and gestured vaguely at his waist. “Any particular reason for this…embellishment?”

Amelia started laughing. “To be honest, I’m surprised you noticed. I tried to be subtle about it.”

“It was quite clever,” Hornblower said, stretching out beside her on the bed, “I wouldn’t have noticed at all if I hadn’t wanted to examine myself in the mirror.”

“That was the intent. Believe me, I had to do some _thorough_ calculations and examination of the area in question to make sure it would work. The research was the best part, to be honest.”

Hornblower tried his level best to keep a straight face. “And why the ears? I thought it might be your signature, but my other pair doesn’t have them. So why…”

She ran her fingers over the embroidered ears. “Just a little reminder, really. Every time you wear them, you’ll remember that we’re promised to each other.”

Hornblower knew just how to acknowledge a romantic thought like that. And much later, as they dozed off together, he reflected with some amusement that he had, technically, been branded. While he probably wouldn’t let Archie in on the joke, he found that he didn’t have a problem with the idea.


	4. A Reputable Scandal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this post: http://following-sea.livejournal.com/488022.html. It just seemed too good to pass up.

“There she is!” Archie said, gesturing proudly to the small ship docked in front of them, “Isn’t she lovely?”

Captain Amelia Drake slowly ran her eyes across the ship, taking in all the details. It was a fifth-rate frigate, like the _Legacy_ , though newly constructed instead of weathered by use. The paint still seemed to gleam in the afternoon light, the dark red color a startling, but not unwelcome, change from the pinks and golds of most of the fleet. The sails were still pure white, the rigging securely tied with new rope. While it might not have the grandeur of a ship-of-the-line, it was still a pretty thing, nevertheless.

“A fine ship indeed, Kennedy,” Amelia said at last, nodding in approval, “And quite a prize for a newly minted captain to be given command of her. Wouldn’t you agree, Horatio?”

She glanced at her husband, only to find him staring at the rear of the ship in disbelief. “What’s the matter?” she said, stepping forward to look for herself. When she caught sight of the name carved there, her eyes widened in surprise. But where Horatio was struggling to keep his mouth from falling open, Amelia chose a different response; she burst out laughing. “It’s perfect, Kennedy. Absolutely perfect.”

“Isn’t it?” Archie said, he and Mr. Bush having joined the group in looking up at the name, “I’m considering having part of the ship repainted with green highlights, just to emphasize the Scottish connection.”

“Oh, is _that_ what this is?” Amelia said, still chuckling, “And no doubt they selected you to captain her because of your Scottish roots.”

Horatio finally found his voice. “ _How?_ ” He said, his voice almost cracking in horror, “How could the Navy _possibly_ come up with a name like…that?”

“I believe it was taken out of their hands,” Archie said, “In an attempt to maintain public support for the war effort, Parliament suggested that the public be allowed to choose the name of the newest ship. This was the result.”

“But why _this_?” Horatio demanded, waving vaguely in the direction of the name, as though he wished to acknowledge it as little as possible.

“Who knows?” Archie said with a shrug, “Perhaps they were making an editorial statement by choosing a name that many of the older generation would find ridiculous. Or perhaps they just wished for something to amuse them. Regardless, I personally think it’s a fine name. I am not ashamed to be the captain of _HMS Boaty McBoatface_.”

Hearing it said out loud just made Amelia laugh even more. “Don’t offend my ship, Captain Drake,” Archie said, even though there was a twinkle in his eyes, “She hasn’t been tested yet, and is a bit sensitive.”

“Oh, believe me, I understand the sentiment,” Amelia said, wiping at her eyes, “You must admit, however, that it will take some getting used to.”

“That I do,” Archie said, before lowering his voice conspiratorially, “Truth be told, it took me over a dozen attempts before I could say the name without laughing myself.”

“Tell me, Archie,” Bush said, as he glanced from the name to Archie and back, “Did you actively campaign to get this ship, or was it assigned to you?”

“The latter,” Archie said, “Though once I heard the name I was positively delighted. Why?”

“Because it seems that Captain Kennedy may be developing a bit of a reputation,” Bush answered, “The Admiralty cannot deny that you’re a fine officer, as evidenced by your promotion, but they’re also well aware of your irreverent streak, and thus, assigned you a ship that most of them were a little embarrassed by.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Archie said, even as his mouth curled upwards slightly, “I always attempt to be nothing but a gentleman.”

“I believe Mr. Bush may be correct,” Amelia chimed in, “Remind us what the original name of your first command was?”

“The _Disgraceful Strumpet_ ,” Archie said fondly, while Horatio turned a deeper shade of red, “She was a lovely ship as _The Betsey_ , but I wouldn’t have minded keeping the original name. After all, it might have distracted the French enough for us to get the drop on them.”

“There we are, then!” Amelia said, “The Admiralty was aware of your fondness for the name, and decided to give you a second chance. But you had best pray that this doesn’t continue; it might be somewhat embarrassing to be an Commodore who is only stationed on ships named _The Arse_ or _The Plucked Chicken_.”

“I don’t know…” Archie said thoughtfully, “A ship called _The Arse_ would offer so many wonderful opportunities for unusual colors or figureheads…”

“That’s quite enough of that!” Horatio yelped, “Would you be kind enough to show us around the ship proper, Mr. Kennedy?”

“Of course,” Archie said, waving them towards the gangplank, “The _Boaty McBoatface_ awaits, gentlemen.”

Horatio spluttered again. Amelia made eye contact with Bush, and saw the amused gleam in his eye that indicated he, too, had no serious objections to the name. Giving him a slight nod, she followed Archie onto the _Boaty McBoatface_ , eager to see what she’d find. Perhaps she could offer some decorative tips that would perfectly match both the name and Archie’s newfound reputation. Given Archie’s temperament, she was sure he wouldn’t mind in the least.


	5. First and Foremost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of two prompts I filled for Disney_Kink. This one was another one-word prompt/microfill, prompt: "Any/Various: Body Worship."

When they were on leave, and Horatio was feeling affectionate, he generally started by coming up behind her and pulling her against him, sliding his arms around her waist. When they were at sea and paying each other a “social call”, it started with a warm kiss as soon as the cabin door had closed, or a bit of flirtation, a game to see how long it would take before they started touching each other.

 

But the second step, invariably, was the same. Horatio’s hand would come up, slowly, and start caressing her ears.

 

Running his fingers up along the edge and fiddling with the pointed tip soon would give way to cupping it in his palm and breathing into it softly. Then he’d move on to soft kisses and nips, his hands moving down to explore her chest. Within five minutes, he had her squirming pleasurably, all too eager to find somewhere to lie down.

 

Amelia knew why he did it, of course. He’d done it from the very beginning of their marriage, a reassurance that he loved her for who she was, ears and all. Along the way, it had transformed into a ritual, something rhythmic that allowed them to let the cares of the outside world fall away and would let them be fully relaxed during their time together.

 

But when Horatio’s fingers deftly pressed against the spot where her ear met her neck, or she felt the cool-warm rush of air ghost against her pinna, she reminded herself that maybe there was a third reason that she should just allow herself to enjoy.


	6. Captain's Orders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the other Amelia/Horatio fill I made for a Disney_Kink prompt. The prompt was as follows;
> 
> "I would love something, anything, involving Captain. Amelia thoroughly dominating someone. I would prefer Dr. Doppler, but other characters, of any gender, are welcome. Bonus points for shoe-licking (I mean seriously, look at those boots)."
> 
> Needless to say, this chapter is NSFW.

Amelia set aside the letter once more and slammed her fist into the desk. Buried within a letter brimming with humorous anecdotes, Archie Kennedy had informed her that he had gained a new command, one considerably grander than the _Legacy_. Her former first lieutenant now outranked her. Although she had long accepted the restrictions placed upon her by the Admiralty, never had they chafed her so badly as they did now.

To his credit, Horatio had been immensely sympathetic. He’d gently kissed the back of her neck and fiddled with her ears, trying to reassure her that she was still one of the best captains the Navy had, and that the Admiralty had to be mad _not_ to see it. Then everything had been spoiled by a note arriving for Commodore Hornblower, asking that he give a visiting Admiral a tour of the countryside. “When I get back, you can have me for as long as you want to vent your frustrations.” he assured her, giving her another kiss before sweeping out the door in full uniform. He’d have to excuse her if she didn’t gain much comfort from that.

Amelia shook her head and stood up. Maybe a good ride across the grounds would dissipate the worst of her irritation. It wouldn’t do to wallow in self-pity, and Horatio shouldn’t have to suffer her foul mood. Best just to sweat it out, have a glass of scotch, and have a night of her husband’s undivided attention. Then all would be well once more.

Her fingers had just closed around her riding crop when the thought flashed through her mind. She lifted up the leather rod and rolled it around in her fingers, considering. Then she smiled devilishly. She’d thought she’d have to go about it all in a linear order. Who said she couldn’t have all three at once…?

***

It was getting onto dusk by the time Horatio returned to the house. This particular Admiral had a tendency to talk your ear off, and despite Horatio’s protests, he had kept them riding through the countryside a full hour longer than had been intended. Fortunately, the man had had a dinner to attend to, and thus couldn’t stay and “take a tour of your charming house.” Although she would no doubt have risen to the occasion, he knew Amelia was in no mood for company of that sort.

Speaking of whom…at present, she was nowhere to be seen. Horatio peeked into her study, the dining room, and the sitting room, but there was no trace of her. There was only one other logical place for her to be, and Horatio immediately beat a path towards the bedroom. The door was closed, and he tapped on it lightly. “Amelia? I’m back. May I come in?”

“Certainly,” she said, an odd note in her voice, “Come right in.”

Horatio pushed the door open and saw her silhouette against the window, illuminated by the setting sun. To his surprise, instead of being in her shirtsleeves, she had dressed herself in her full uniform. One hand was pouring out a glass of scotch. The other one remained behind her back. “Have you eaten?” she asked him.

“The Admiral and I took dinner at an inn. I hope you weren’t waiting on me.”

“No,” she said, and that tone in her voice was becoming more pronounced by the second, “We had a feeling you’d be late, so I had a light dinner myself.”

Horatio cleared his throat awkwardly, unsure how to interpret her tone and her actions. “Amelia, are you…are you quite all right?”

“Yes, Horatio,” she breathed, and he felt his skin prickle, “And I expect to be even better in about an hour’s time.”

He swallowed. “How do you intend to do that?”

She stepped forward, her face becoming visible for the first time. He almost took a step back at the look on her face. Her eyes had narrowed in the irritated way they always did when she was chasing down a particularly stubborn ship, and yet there was a bright, excited gleam in her eyes. “Horatio,” she said, running her free hand up his coat, “Do you remember what you said to me before you left? The part about how you would allow me to vent my frustrations?”

“Of course,” he answered, a touch nervously, “And I have every intention of keeping my promise.”

“Well, the circumstances are a little different now,” Amelia said, hand toying idly with his neckerchief, “Simple, rational conversation can only get me so far. There are times, you see, when in order to properly vent, I need to get…physical.”

She smiled then, her teeth bared slightly, and Horatio finally placed the look on her face. It was _predatory_. She took her hand out from behind her back, revealing her riding crop. “And so I wanted to know, my dear, if you’d be prepared to extend your promise to _that_ side of things.”

Horatio knew that by all rights, he should have been horrified. But that slight purr in her voice, the gleam in her eyes, and especially the hand trailing over his chest had made him more than a little curious. So he took a deep breath and reached out to fondle her ears. “Yes. Of course I am.”

She rested her cheek into his palm briefly before pulling away. “I have no intention of hurting you, Horatio, but there is a chance that I may become a little…rough. If at any point you find yourself in a situation you can’t handle, just say the word ‘lifeline’. All right?”

Horatio nodded, now utterly bewildered about what she had planned. She put the crop under his chin and tilted his head upwards. “Very good. Now for the duration of this little venting session, you will address me only as Captain, Sir, or M’aam. Failure to do so shall result in chastisement. Have I made myself clear?”

“Very clear.”

“Good. Now get _down_.”

Suddenly the crop had migrated to his shoulder, and she was exerting a great deal of pressure on it. He dropped to his knees, throwing out his hands to break the fall. Looking up, he saw her step away from him and sit down gracefully at her desk, picking up the glass of scotch. She slid one leg towards him. “My boot could do with a bit of a shine. See to it, will you?”

Horatio began to rise to his feet, intent on seeking out a rag and a bit of polish. The crop whistled through the air and thumped against his shoulder, not painfully, but enough to make him stop in his tracks. “Not like that. I require a more personal touch tonight. Lick it.”

“W-what?”

“Lick. It. I trust I’ve made myself clear enough?”

“I…” she shot him a look, “Yes, Captain.”

She smiled at that and leaned back in her chair, sipping at her drink. Horatio swallowed and put his lips to the tip of her boot. The smell of the leather boots was familiar, but the taste was unexpected, although not unpleasant. Uncertainly, he traced a path up the center of her boot with his tongue, pausing only once to wet his tongue before continuing the task.

 It felt like he’d travelled half-way up her leg before he finally reached the top of her boot. Amelia laughed softly and ran her fingers lightly through his curls. “Good boy. But we can’t have the boots mismatched, now can we? The other one, if you please.”

“Yes, Captain.” Horatio said meekly.

This time, she stuck her leg out directly in the air in front of her. Horatio carefully grasped onto her heel and calf to give himself a better purchase, and began the process once again. He didn’t dare look in her direction, but his hearing seemed to become more acute. He could hear her swallowing her scotch, and little satisfied exhales as he travelled further up her leg. Above all, though, he could hear the riding crop tapping against the chair, beating out a regular rhythm, the sound both a warning and a promise.

When he drew away from her leg a second time, Amelia considered her boot, turning it this way and that, admiring the new trail of wetness straight up the center. “Fine work. You’ve done well.”

“Thank you, M’aam.” Horatio said, feeling like she expected an answer.

“Take a drink,” she said, crossing her legs, “Wash the taste out of your mouth.”

He stood up tentatively. When she made no move to stop him, he poured himself a glass of scotch and downed half of it in one go. Then he sipped carefully, slowly removing every trace of the aftertaste of her boot. He glanced at Amelia from time to time, and saw that she was watching him fixedly, hands folded atop each other and a smile playing across her lips, the riding crop now nestled in her lap. He imagined that this was the expression on her face whenever she saw a privateer raise the white flag. The fact that that gaze was now trained entirely on _him_ made him feel oddly honored. More than honored, he realized, as his breeches tightened around him, he was apparently positively _excited_ about this.

“Finished?” Amelia asked, when he set down his glass. Horatio nodded. She picked up her riding crop and gestured with it. “Now then, get that uniform off.”

Horatio half-expected her to help him, as she’d occasionally done in the past. Instead, she continued to sit and gaze at him, the crop tapping against the chair once more. He focused on undressing, folding the clothes and setting them aside out of habit. He heard her laugh softly. “Always so by-the-book, aren’t you?” she purred, “Let’s see if I can change that, if only for one night. You’re a tough case, but I think I can manage it.”

“Is that…is that a promise?” Horatio asked semi-flirtatiously, struggling with one of his boots. He was rewarded with a clip on his calf for his trouble. “No back-talk. You’ll speak when I indicate that you can.”

He winced, and managed to yank off the boot. “Yes, M’aam.”

Two minutes later, he was naked in front of her, clasping his hands behind his back as he waited for her next command. She put her chin on her hand and considered him for a minute. Then her smile widened and she stood up, walking around him slowly, examining him from every angle. On her second pass, she spoke again.

“I’m a bit of a nosy person, Hornblower,” she murmured, trailing the crop up the back of his leg, “When I meet someone new in the service, I start asking my men about them. When we worked together all those years ago, you were no exception. When I learned that Archie…” the crop slid carefully over and down one shoulder, “had served alongside you in your midshipman days, I urged him for details. He gave me the basics, about how noble you were, your gift for mathematics, your respect for your men. All positive traits, to be sure.”

She stopped in front of him for a moment, tracing patterns into his chest with the riding crop. Then she smiled and resumed her pacing. “However, when we decided to make a go at courtship, I began to probe Archie for more…intimate details. Being the scoundrel he is, he wouldn’t give me the information that I _really_ wanted to know. He told me quite the fascinating story, though.”

Amelia was standing behind him now, and he could feel her warm breath blow against his ear as she whispered conspiratorially, “Something about a hot day…relief over the end of a difficult situation…and a deck shower.”

Horatio stiffened, pulse quickening. “Mmm…” Amelia said, hand curling over his shoulder, “Remember that, do you? Do you remember how good the cool water felt over your skin? How nice it felt to wash all that grime off? I bet it was lovely. Something like this, perhaps?”

And then her tongue was on his back, running from the point of one shoulder straight to the other. He couldn’t restrain a shuddering breath. No question about it anymore; he was _definitely_ excited by this. She chuckled softly as she raised her head. “I wonder, though…was it really the water that made it so pleasurable? Maybe it was the chance to display yourself in front of everyone? Naked, with no shame. Nothing to prove…except to confirm a few rumors bandied about the lower decks. Now everyone would know that there were _four_ ‘great masts’ on their ship.”

She slid the riding crop downwards and flicked it oh so gently, and Horatio nearly collapsed to his knees of his own accord. “God!” he managed.

Amelia laughed again. “I don’t think He’ll be helping you much here. Oh, I wish I’d been there, Hornblower. To see you in all your glory. But I suppose it’s better late than never. Wait here. Don’t move a muscle.”

Giving him a light swat across the arse on the way out, she slipped out the door, closing it behind her. He stood as still as he could, although he couldn’t stop his hands from twisting behind him. He thought he’d learned to gauge all her moods, and how to respond accordingly. But now, she was completely unpredictable. It was a new side of her, more than just a captain’s authority or the fabled feminine wiles. And it was utterly magnificent. Horatio was willing to do just about anything for her, as long as she kept gazing at him with those predatory eyes and talking in that throaty voice.

Amelia returned, a bucket of water clasped in one hand. “Now, I _could_ just throw this over you…” she said, “But I think that would quite defeat my purpose. I prefer to take it slowly. _Very_ slowly. I hope that’s agreeable to you as well.”

“Yes, M’aam.”

She smiled and lifted a sponge out of the bucket. “Marvelous.” She held it over his shoulder, paused for an eternity of a second, then gently squeezed. Horatio gasped again as the cold water hit his skin and trickled down his back and chest. He flinched involuntarily, then tried to stand straight, assuming she wanted him to maintain his composure. Instead, she leaned in and started breathing in his ear again. “No, Hornblower. Feel free to writhe. I want to try to recreate that moment on deck. I want to see what you were like at your most wanton.”

The next splash of water was right at the base of his neck. He threw back his head, arching his spine, deliberately panting. Amelia purred again and pet him lightly. “Good boy.”

She continued to “bathe” him for a good ten minutes, dripping water over him and clearly reveling in every noise and twitch he made. When the bucket was empty at last, she draped a towel over his shoulder. “Dry off. Your skin needs to be receptive to my ministrations.”

He ran the towel over his arms, watching her. She crossed the room and lay the riding crop down on the bed. Then she sauntered back to her desk and picked up a quill, running her fingers through the barbs. Finally, she stood in front of him again, watching as he finished toweling his chest. “Ready?” she asked.

“Oh God yes.”

She smiled. “Poor dear. You’re so very ready for it, aren’t you? Well, you’re going to have to wait another minute or so. But rest assured, I’ve been more than satisfied with you so far. A reward is forthcoming.”

Horatio swallowed dryly and nodded. She reached out and started brushing the feather across his body, much as she’d done before with the riding crop. But now, the downy feel of the feather trailing across his arms left goosebumps in its wake, and he shivered every time the feeling ceased. The exception was when she brushed the feather over and around his nose, causing him to turn his head to the side and sneeze. “Bless you.” she crooned, before leaning in and kissing him. He didn’t dare lay a hand on her, but he pressed his lips firmly against hers, desperate for more. When she pulled away, her eyes were shining with eagerness. “One moment, Hornblower,” she said, gesturing to her uniform, “I need to deal with one last little impediment.”

It seemed to Horatio that Amelia was removing her clothes with a deliberate slowness. She glanced at him coyly with every item that fell to the floor, until he was certain he would draw blood with how hard he was digging his nails into his palm. At last, she pulled off her boots, running a finger down the center as she did so, and wriggled out of her trousers and knickers in one fell swoop. All that was left were her stockings, and Horatio imagined she would slide them off carefully, allowing the skin to be revealed inch by inch. It just seemed to fit her current state of mind.

Instead, she reached for her boots once more and tugged them back on. His surprise must have appeared on his face, because she laughed and stroked his face gently. “All in good time, Hornblower. Trust me.”

Taking his hand, she led him, not to the bed, but over to the wall. She turned back to him, back pressed up against the smooth wood, and paused, considering for a moment. “Yes…” she said to herself, “If he…like this…yes…”

“A…Captain?” Horatio ventured tentatively.

She grabbed his wrist and placed his hand against her ribcage. Cupping the other hand around her left hip, she gave him a glare. “Don’t you bloody _dare_ let go, or there will be hell to pay.”

Before he could ask what she meant, she pressed against his back and pushed him into her. Judging from how easily he’d entered, Horatio wasn’t the only one who had been enjoying this little performance. He groaned in relief, and felt her smile against his lips. “You needed that, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Captain.” he answered, not bothering to disguise his pleasure.

“Well then, brace yourself.”

And the next thing he knew, her hands were on his shoulders, and her legs had left the floor entirely. Then two points were digging into his waist and he felt smooth leather surrounding his hips, clamping down hard. “Well? You know what to do!” she said sternly.

Horatio tightened his grip on her and started moving in slow, even strokes. Amelia threw her head back, eyes closed, and started panting. Encouraged, he quickened his pace and was rewarded with a moan. Her leather boots rose and fell with each push, rubbing against his skin and somehow making the whole thing still _more_ erotic.

Then, abruptly, Amelia gave a loud “Oh!” and stiffened for one moment before sagging against the wall, her smile the smile of the utterly content. Horatio smiled back, feeling close to the edge himself. Just one more minute…

His eyes snapped open in consternation as Amelia pushed him away from her, removing her legs from his hips and _walking away_ from the wall. Her legs were shaky, but she was still able to stand. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “You don’t honestly expect me to stand there and let you drive me into the wall so hard that I wind up with splinters, do you? I intend to be comfortable.”

With that, she perched herself on the edge of the bed, slowly working off her boots once more. Horatio was trembling now, unsure if he was even able to move, desperate for a release. Amelia tossed her head, one boot clattering to the floor, and he realized exactly what he needed to do.

“Captain,” he said, voice quivering as he lurched forward and grabbed onto the bedpost, “ _Please_.” He was sure he had never sounded so agonized in his entire life.

Her answering grin would have chilled the devil himself. “Lie down on the bed. I’ll be with you presently.”

Horatio collapsed across the bed in relief, turning to face her. Understanding the situation, she quickly dispatched the other boot and both stockings and clambered up beside him. “Flat on your back.” she ordered, flicking a finger, and Horatio complied at once. She straddled him, pushed herself up, and then lowered herself onto him. Now _she_ was the one doing the pushing, and it was warm and soft and just incredibly _good._

“O-oh…” he half-moaned, half-hissed, “Yes…God, Amelia…”

There was a painful smack against his bicep, and he pried his eyes open long enough to see her wielding the riding crop again. “Remember what I told you, Hornblower.”

“Y-yes, M’aam. Sorry, M’aam.”

She picked up one of his hands and kissed his wrist. “You’re forgiven. You’ve been remarkably good about it, really. I’m impressed.”

“Th-thank you, M’aam.”

Amelia put a finger to his lips. “No more talk. We both know what we need right now.”

And she was moving again, faster and faster, hands pulsing with every push, her breath becoming more and more erratic. She threw back her head again, bouncing on top of him, and he cried out in a mixture of relief and delight as he finally achieved climax. A moment later, she stiffened on top of him once more, yelling so loudly that he was sure it echoed throughout the house. He was much too exhausted to actually care, though.

Amelia tumbled off him, draping one arm gently over his body. She pulled herself against him and looked at him with much softer eyes. “It’s Amelia again, Horatio.” she murmured, kissing his cheek.

He reached out and started caressing her ears. “Properly vented now?”

 She nodded, her smile contented and lazy, like a cat napping in a sunbeam. “Absolutely.”

“Listen to me very carefully, Amelia,” he said, as sternly as he could muster, “In the future, if you _ever_ feel frustrated or helpless over your position, remember this. This Post-Captain brought a Commodore to his knees with nothing but a riding crop and a few well-chosen words. No other captain has ever achieved so much.”

She laughed richly, nestling against him as the post-coital sleep set in for them both. “I guess you’re right, at that. How positively marvelous.”


	7. Happy Returns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place around "Commodore Hornblower" in the bookverse, and leads in, in part, to the next story...

“Signal from the _Legacy,_ Captain!” Midshipman Dawes cried. Bush immediately turned his telescope towards the fluttering flags. Hornblower, at the mention of the ship, did so as well—although he was not as adept at reading signals as he should be, he could read the one thing that mattered.

“It’s in regard to you, sir,” Bush said, “‘Captain requests the honor of the Commodore’s presence.”

Hornblower smiled a little. “Signal back and say that I will arrive shortly. Mr. Bush, prepare a boat.”

When Hornblower had been told that he could pick four ships to accompany him to Russia, there had been no question about which he would pick. The _Nonsuch,_ of course, would be his flagship, for Bush had long deserved his own vessel. Then came the _King’s Spirit,_ currently commanded by one Captain Kennedy. He’d thrown in the _Torrential_ because she had a good captain, good men, and a fine set of guns. Then, at last, he’d written down the _Legacy._

Amelia, of course, was immensely flattered that he had chosen her at all (though her teasings about favoritism were deliberately ignored), and she was more than understanding about his home being on the _Nonsuch_. “You will, of course, come over to dinner and a game of cards from time to time, won’t you?” she said, as they lay entangled with each other the night before they were to depart.

“Certainly,” Hornblower answered, fiddling with her ears, “Although it will only be once a week or so. I shall have…other duties to attend to.”

She nodded, her expression serious. Although their relationship was an open secret to the Navy at this point, they well understood the value of discretion. “As long as I’m included in those Commodore dinners, I have no complaints.”

Now, three months into the voyage, she was asking him to come over for the first time (all other times he had declared he was going over to “inspect the ship”, or had invited her to dine with him and the other captains). Since she had done it perfectly respectably, and it was, after all, the first time, Hornblower felt no twinge of embarrassment as he approached the _Legacy_ in his boat.

Lieutenant Blakeney was the first to approach him once he climbed aboard. “Commodore Hornblower!” he said, saluting, “All goes well on the _Nonsuch_ , I trust?”

“Very satisfactory,” Hornblower agreed, smiling at the young man’s openness, “Is your captain up on deck?”

“And why shouldn’t I be?” came the response, as Amelia strode forward to meet him, “Need to keep an eye on where we’re going. Besides, years of looking out for French privateers has conditioned me to stay alert.”

Hornblower shook her hand, giving her fingers an extra squeeze as he pulled away. “What did you want to see me about, Captain?”

“A matter regarding Russia, sir,” she answered, gesturing towards the cabins, “Come along with me and I’ll explain everything.” Hornblower, nodding to Blakeney, obligingly followed her.

Once inside her cabin, Amelia turned to him and gave him a warm kiss, her hands sliding over his shoulders and down his chest. “Happy Birthday, Horatio.” she said as she pulled away.

Hornblower was startled. “You remembered? After all this monotony, you remembered that?”

“I’m your wife, why shouldn’t I remember?” Amelia answered, crossing to her seachest and opening it, “Besides, I wouldn’t be a very good Captain if I lost track of the date. Messrs. Bush and Kennedy are aware of it as well; I wouldn’t be surprised if they sent you their well-wishes over the next few hours.”

Hornblower couldn’t repress a blush. Amelia straightened up again and presented him with a parcel wrapped in brown paper, a jaunty blue ribbon tying it all together. “A little something for you.”

“Amelia, you didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to,” she said simply, “One’s birthday should never go unnoticed.”

Hornblower took it from her gingerly and undid the ribbon. The paper parted at once, a long black cloak spilling out and rippling down to the floor. Hornblower caught hold of it and held it up for examination. There was an anchor embroidered at either corner, and the rest of the cloak’s edge was threaded with golden rope. He looked up at her with a soft smile. “Your handiwork, I presume?”

“I’d meant to give this to you for Christmas,” she said, rubbing her fingers against the cloth, “But when I heard we were heading to Russia, and would be there through the winter, I figured you would need a cloak to keep you warm. I’ve spent my free evenings sewing like a madwoman in here.”

“Well, I appreciate it,” Horatio said, folding up the cloak and setting it aside, “and when the weather turns cold, I will wear it with pride. I’m sure the Russians will be quite jealous.”

Amelia slid her arms around his neck and leaned in close. “I can offer you a second birthday present later tonight, if you can find a reason to drop in,” she murmured in his ear, “My garden has been tended especially for today.”

He smiled and planted a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll see what I can do, Mrs. Hornblower.”


	8. Isolation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains an implied suicide, and is also fairly dark.
> 
> There are also minor spoilers for "Commodore Hornblower."

_They were surrounding her, fingers extended to point and prod at her. Their mocking mixed and blended together, the insults familiar. Monster, adulteresses’ child, dumb beast, animal. She did her best to keep her head down, to hurry home from school to prevent these sorts of attacks, but sometimes they cornered her, knocking her books to the ground and shoving her into the dirt. Once or twice, they tugged her ears, claiming that they would do her a favor and rip them off._

_But enough was enough. If she kept cowering before them, they would only be encouraged. Her father said as much. There was only one way to stop them._

_As the first hand reached out for her books, she opened her arms and let them fall to the ground herself. Then she launched herself at the nearest boy, hands curling into fists. “Leave me ALONE!!!”_

***

Hornblower’s head whipped around when he heard Amelia cry out. It wasn’t like her to be so…angry. If one of their fellow riders was bothering her, she would have ridden ahead of him or given him a withering insult to shut him up. The only possible explanation was that someone was reaching for her wig, and she was afraid of having her secret revealed.

Instead of seeing Amelia glowering at some Russian attendant, he saw her crumpled on the ground, her horse staring down at her as she thrashed around, hands swiping at the air around her. She was growling threateningly, staring up at the empty sky. Hornblower immediately yanked the reins of his own horse and tugged himself out of the stirrups, running over to her. “Am…Captain Drake?” he said, catching himself just in time as he crouched beside her, “Captain Drake?!”

She didn’t respond to him, and he was afraid to touch her, sure that she would strike him with one of her flailing arms. But he was close enough now to realize that her eyes were glazed over, and his blood ran cold.

The rest of the party had dismounted by now and were encircling them, staring down at the scene. He looked up at them. “What’s happening?” he asked them, trying his level best to keep his voice even.

At that moment, Amelia made a noise that, in other circumstances, he would have labeled a triumphant roar, and lay still, eyes closing and head falling limply to the side. He reached out for her carefully, pulling his hand away when he felt the heat radiating off her forehead. Illness.

One of the Russians crouched down next to him and touched her brow. Then he peered into one of her eyes and put his fingers to her wrist. “We must take him to a physician. There is one nearby. I will carry him.”

He lifted Amelia up easily and carried her to his horse. It took all of Hornblower’s self-control to keep him from begging the man to be gentle.

***

_Her father entered her room, and she knew at once that something was wrong. His eyes were red and bright, and his hands were shaking. “Father?” she said, her voice rising into a panicked squeak, “What’s wrong?”_

_  
He sat down next to her on the bed and pulled her into a tight embrace. “Your mother…” he began, voice cracking, “Your mother has gone.”_

_She knew at once what he meant. For a moment, she was frozen in place. Then her mind began to think over the events of the day. Mama hadn’t acted ill, just tired and sad. She had smiled when her father had said “I’m taking Amelia down to the fields to practice wrestling.” Then Mama had hugged her tight and kissed her forehead, and done the same to Father. “Take good care of her,” she’d said, faintly, smiling, “She needs it.”_

_The words rang in her head, taking on new meanings. She buried her face in her father’s shirt, willing herself not to sob aloud. Her mother was dead, and it was all her fault._

***

 “Typhus,” the doctor said flatly, before he even lay a hand on Amelia, “I’m sure of it.”

Hornblower swallowed. “Is it a bad case?”

“I’ll have to do a more thorough examination to be sure, but it seems likely. It may be best, _Monsieur_ , if you remain outside. The last thing we need is for you to fall ill as well.”

Hornblower clenched his fist and took a deep breath. “Doctor…there’s something you should know. You’ll find it out soon enough anyway, so perhaps it’s best if you hear it from me.”

The doctor waved the other man through the door, looking at Hornblower attentively. Hornblower swallowed. “Captain Drake is a woman. She was born with an unusual set of ears, and disguises them with a wig. She openly serves in the Royal Navy, but she disguised herself again when we arrived in Russia because she wasn’t sure what the locals would make of her.”

“Oh?” the doctor said, turning to look into the room. Hornblower craned his neck, and saw Amelia laid out on a large bed, still unconscious. The doctor turned back to him, looking slightly impressed. “She hides it well. Thank you for informing me.”

“Will you give me a full report when you’re finished?” Hornblower demanded, as the man stepped inside the room and began to close the door.

“Of course, Commodore,” came the response, “It is the least I can do.”

When the door closed behind him, Hornblower turned on his heel and walked briskly outside again, where crewmen from all four ships, including Captain Kennedy, Lieutenant Yarrow, and Commander Bush were gathered anxiously. He clenched his fists behind his back and cleared his throat. “Captain Drake has contracted Typhus. It seems likely that…” he checked to make sure there were no other people nearby, “she will have to remain here until she recovers. _The Legacy_ will wait here for her; the rest of the flotilla may prepare for their return to Britain.”

There was a murmuring among the men; Yarrow looked stricken. Hornblower raised his voice. “Mr. Bush, Mr. Yarrow. Pass the word that the Commodore will be switching his flagship from _The Nonsuch_ to _The Legacy_.”

Archie looked up with a smile, the relief evident on his face. Bush seemed slightly surprised. “Very commendable, Commodore,” he said, “But what will the Admiralty…”

“I will write a report to them,” Hornblower answered coolly, “Explaining that I was hesitant to leave one of our ships behind in an unfamiliar country. That explanation will have to suffice for the time being. Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.” Bush said, saluting and moving off with the rest of the men. Yarrow lingered a moment longer. “Will you be bunking aboard the _Legacy_ , sir?”

“No,” Hornblower said, turning round to enter the building again, “I will be taking rooms here for the duration. I want immediate updates on her condition.” Perhaps, if he could wrangle it, he could get the room adjoining hers. If that was the closest he could be to her in her hour of need, so be it.

***

_She clutched her father’s hand, tears streaming down her face. “You can get better, Father!” she said shakily, “You always get better!”_

_“Not this time, my little fighter,” her father said, squeezing her hand, “My body’s saying it’s time to go.”_

_His voice was so weak, his face so pale. But he still had the strength to smile and ruffle her hair. “Promise me one thing, Amelia,” he murmured, “Promise me that you’ll keep fighting. Don’t let those ears ruin your life. Show the world that you’re just as good as the rest of them.”_

_“I’m better!” she said fiercely, “I’ll beat them all!”_

_“That’s my girl,” he smiled, “And Amelia, if you find someone who accepts you and appreciates you, ears and all, hold on to them and never let them go. Those will be the friends that are worthy of you.”_

_It seemed like such a ridiculous, impossible concept. But she nodded anyway. “I will, Father.”_

_He seemed to relax into the pillow, smiling peacefully at her. She lowered her head to the bedspread, and didn’t look up again until she heard the priest come in._

***

“It’s not good,” Dr. Makariy said as Hornblower leapt to his feet, “She’s got a high fever, and it’s fairly obvious that she’s hallucinating. She isn’t even aware of a hand on her wrist, much less anyone speaking to her.”

 “Will she live?” Hornblower snapped, resisting the urge to pace the room. Makariy nodded. If we keep washing her in cool water and bleeding her every so often, I think she’ll come out of it in a few weeks.”

“And her mind? Will the fever damage it?”

Makariy looked at him intently for a moment, and Hornblower forced himself to meet the gaze firmly. At last the doctor said “No. The hallucinations may be vivid, but they are temporary. She will, perhaps, be unsettled when she wakes up, but they should fade when the fever breaks. The rest of her faculties will be untouched.”

Hornblower nodded curtly. “When will it be safe to pay her a visit?”

 “Not until the fever breaks,” Makariy answered, his tone brooking no argument, “She will remain contagious until then.”

Hornblower cursed inwardly, but sat down once more as he said “Very well, Doctor. You’ll keep me informed of her condition, of course?”

“Naturally,” Makariy answered, “It’s commendable that a Commodore is so concerned for the people under his command.” Hornblower acknowledged the comment with another nod, hoping to indicate that the doctor should return to his patient. Makariy was at the door when he asked, almost casually, “Please indulge my curiosity, Commodore. Is she your sister, wife, or daughter?”

Hornblower closed his eyes, feeling his face burn. Had he been that overt about it? “My wife,” he said quietly, “We’ve been married six years.”

“Ah,” Makariy said, and there was a note of sympathy in his voice, “I will return this evening with news.”

He closed the door behind him, leaving Hornblower to put his face in his  hands and try to compose himself.

***

_She stood before the mirror one last time, checking and double checking her appearance. The Midshipmans’ jacket hung a bit long in the wrist, and the boots felt clunky and unwieldy on her feet. But it was the wig that she returned to again and again, tossing her head, tugging the queue, and doing everything in her power to dislodge it, praying that the pins inside would hold. She could feel the tips of her ears mashed flat against her head, uncomfortable but bearable. It was a passable disguise, but only time would tell if it would actually work on the men around her._

_Stepping away from the mirror, she looked around at the house, stripped of most of its furnishings. Mr. Nash had taken care of everything exactly as she’d asked, without question; she fully intended to keep her on as her solicitor as long as the money held out. It had hurt to see objects she had grown up with being taken out of the doors to new owners, and it would hurt to put the key to the house in Nash’s hand, but she would never have been able to keep the house for herself. She wasn’t ready to run a household, not at this age. What items she wished to keep had been carefully stowed in her seachest, and the rest could  be replaced when the time came._

_She put a hand to her breast and took a deep, calming breath, which did little to soothe her nerves. Then she stepped out of the house, locking the door behind her, and pulled herself up into the waiting carriage. Alan Drake had a ship to join._

***

It was the waiting that was the worst. None of it was particularly pleasant, of course. Hearing the door open and close, catching glimpses of men carrying various instruments (including, in one sickening incident, a bowl of blood), only reminded him that they were allowed to see her and he was not. The nights weren’t much better, hearing Amelia shift and moan through the wall, her voice too low to make out the words, but the tone unmistakably harsh and pained. All he could do was touch the wall that separated their rooms and murmur yet another apology that he couldn’t see her.

The waiting, however, drove him to distraction. Doctor Makariy came to him twice a day, once in the morning and once at sundown to inform him of Amelia’s progress. The news varied slightly, with mentions of cool water and responsiveness to light, but one key detail was always the same; she was still unconscious and delirious. Even though he knew the response, Hornblower still had to wait twelve hours for the second report. He tried everything he could think of to keep himself occupied. He walked the building, growing quite familiar with its rooms and various corridors. Reading was quickly dismissed as a pastime, for he could never concentrate long enough for the words on the page to register. The only time he ever felt productive was when he took an excursion out to visit the harbor.

At first, he had to see the fleet off. Help the other ships gather supplies, write reports to the Admiralty, make his goodbyes to Archie and Bush. But even when they were gone and only the _Legacy_ remained, it provided a small measure of comfort. Now _he_ could be the one giving the report on Amelia’s condition, even if the news was just as frustrating to her crew. All of them seemed as anxious as he was, and sitting and talking with them about ship matters provided a distraction. He found their conduct to be exemplary, and promised them each time he left that he would “pass a favorable report on to Captain Drake when she wakes up.” He could only hope that that time would come sooner rather than later.

***

_“I remember the rumors that swirled around our town whenever we went to the market,” Lieutenant Young said, the wig hanging limply in his hand, “Of the cat-eared girl of Bristol. There was never any news of a brother, and I highly doubt that something like this would pop up somewhere else. Is there something else you’ve been hiding from us, Captain?”_

_She raised her head, stiffening her back. It was the end for her, but she wasn’t about to meet it passively. “If you expect me to expose myself to you, Lieutenant, you are sadly mistaken. And I’ll have that back, thank you.”_

_She snatched the wig from his hand and turned to Sommes, who was staring at her in undisguised shock. “Mr. Sommes, I believe you will be taking command for the rest of the voyage. Please plot a course back to England so that the Admiralty can…” she faltered for just an instant, “Deal with this little problem. I shall remain in my quarters for the duration.”_

_She could hear the crew whispering as she made her way to her cabin. Second Lieutenant Kennedy looked like he wanted to call out to her, but clearly thought better of it. Good; she was in no mood for conversation._

_The door had barely closed before she had slid down to the floor, shaking uncontrollably. A inquiry was forthcoming, no doubt followed by a harsh reprimand and an ousting from the Navy. She’d been careful with her money and had been practicing her embroidery, but was it really enough to live on? What would she do when that money ran out?_

_She looked up and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Anger and shame collided hard inside her, and she rose to her feet, tossing the wig to the desk and tearing off her jacket. Buttons popped off her shirt as she clawed at the cloth, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She was in front of the mirror now, tearing at the bandages that kept her flat, cursing. Exposed at last, she raked her fingers across her breasts and screamed. Let her crew think she had gone mad; they wouldn’t have to deal with her for much longer._

***

It had been exactly two weeks when Makariy approached Hornblower at sundown, a small smile replacing his normal aloof expression. Hornblower had to take a shaky breath before he said “Well, Doctor?” the words still coming out far too quickly.

Makariy inclined his head. “The fever has fallen, and seems likely to break within the hour. If you would like to be there when she wakes up in order to explain things to her, I believe it would be safe to do so.”

“Thank you.” Hornblower said, already striding for the door. For the first time, the door next to his was open a crack, and he pushed it open, not even bothering to knock.

There was no one else in the room besides Amelia, who was stretched out on the bed, arms exposed on the duvet. White bandages bore witness to the various bleedings she’d had to undergo. Hornblower pulled up a chair and sat down beside her, looking her over. Her face was hideously pale and drawn, brow furrowed and lips a thin line. Her hair was tangled, and it had grown out far enough to brush against her neck. Even with most of her body under the covers, he could tell she’d lost weight.

Hornblower reached out and tentatively lay a hand on her wrist, squeezing softly. “Captain Drake?” he said softly. “Amelia? It’s me, Horatio. Can you hear me?”

***

_“Would you care to tell us, Miss Drake, exactly what made you decide to take such a rash course of action?” Hammond said, looking over his papers at her._

_It took all her self-control not to laugh in his face. She was already treading on dangerous ground for appearing in her uniform, sans captain’s jacket, instead of the dress that had been sent to her. She curled her hand around the wood of the stand and raised her head, voice ringing around the small room. “I had no other option, sir. With these ears, no man would have me, especially with no status or dowry to my name. I could not impose upon the kindness of Mr. Nash for long, especially since he’d done so much for my family already. There were two options left to me; the Navy or the streets. And I would rather sacrifice my identity than my virtue.”_

_There was a whispering from the crowd, and even through the haze of indignation, she could tell that it was in her favor. She had touched on something everyone there could agree with. She met Hammond’s gaze with just a hint of defiance, daring him to find fault with what she’d said. Risking a glance at the other judges, she could see them looking at her with expressions of pity. She’d accept that right now._

_Hammond coughed and stood up. “We will review the testimonies. Return here in two hours for the verdict.”_

_The other judges stood and filed out after him. She remained where she was, gazing after them, trying to convince the audience that she wasn’t afraid of what would come next. She prayed they couldn’t see her shaking legs._

_There was a hand on her wrist, tugging gently. She tried to pull away; she would leave when she was ready. “Amelia…” they murmured softly. She bristled at her given name—better Drake than that right now. And why had the room gotten so blasted dark?_

***

Hornblower jumped involuntarily as Amelia sat bolt upright, eyes snapping open. “Amelia…” he said again, trying to catch her attention.

She blinked, squinting at the room around her before her eyes finally landed on him. “Horatio?” she said, confused, “What…where are we? What’s going on?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” he said, wanting to take it slow.

She put a hand to her head, shaking it back and forth. “I…I was riding with the rest of you. It was bitterly cold out. And then…”

Her hand slid upwards involuntarily, touching mussed hair and the curve of her ear. Her eyes widened in horror. “My wig!” she gasped, “I lost it! Do they know? Did they see?”

“ _Shh, shhh…_ ” Hornblower squeezed her wrist, not wanting her to exert herself. “You fell ill with Typhus. You were carried here to be looked after. Only Doctor Makariy and his staff know the truth, and they’ve long grown used to it by now. There’s no need to worry.”

 Amelia looked back at him, something wild still in her eyes. “How long have I been ill?”

“Two weeks,” Hornblower said, “And they tell me it will be longer still until you’re back at full strength. When Makariy thinks you’re fit to be transported, we’ll return to the _Legacy_. Until then, you need to focus on recovering, and not on your duties. Do I make myself clear?”

“Aye, sir.” she said vaguely, looking around the room again. He waited until she looked at him again before he said “I’m glad you’ve come back.” very quietly.

She blinked at him again before she gave a tiny, hesitant smile. “So am I.”

“I’m sorry, Commodore,” Makariy said from the doorway, “But I need to look over Captain Drake to get a sense of her recovery period.”

Hornblower nodded and rose to his feet. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” he said, more to Amelia than to Makariy, before walking from the room. When he glanced back, Amelia was quietly letting Makariy examine her eyes, more subdued than he’d ever seen her. His heart twisted, and he turned away from the sight.

It was another week before Amelia was deemed strong enough to get out of bed. Hornblower visited her daily, talking to her about her progress. Only once did he mention the _Legacy_ , to assure her that the ship was running smoothly in her absence. He felt it wasn’t the place to tell her that the rest of the flotilla had left; she had enough to process as it was. When she was given the go-ahead to stand, he was next to her, lightly grasping her hand to provide her support, which was much needed, as her legs wobbled dangerously, even with one hand on the bedframe. She stubbornly refused to return to bed until she had been standing a full minute, which caused Makariy to tut and Hornblower to smile. She was already regaining her spirit, if not her strength.

As the days went on, Amelia continued to force herself out of bed, and later, to walk, even if it was just from one side of the bed to the other. She was chided for pushing herself too far, and she responded simply that “I’ll stay in bed for the rest of the day if that will satisfy you, but if I don’t practice, I’ll never get out of the blasted bed.” Hornblower could sympathize with both points of view, although he did often quietly suggest that Amelia had practiced enough for the day.

She progressed from broth to soup to actual meat, and started to look less skeletal in her nightshirt. Her hair was brushed and pulled back into something more respectable, though she left the length as it was for the time being. The marks from the bleedings faded and all but disappeared. The chances were good that she would fully come back to herself by the time they reached England.

Three weeks after her fever broke, Makariy said that it was safe for her to be moved. Amelia turned to Hornblower as soon as the words had left the doctor’s mouth. “Please tell Mr. Yarrow to prepare the ship for departure. I want to be on board by the end of the week.” Hornblower just smiled. “He’ll be delighted to do so.”

Yarrow was indeed overjoyed at the news that they would finally be returning to England. As Hornblower was preparing to leave, men were already bustling around, stowing rope and tugging at the sails. Amelia would find no fault with her ship when she came aboard.

 Of course, first she had to make it to the ship. Although Makariy had suggested a stretcher, and Hornblower offered her his arm, Amelia waved them both off, bound and determined to walk out of the building herself. Hornblower silenced Makariy with a wave of his hand and a glare, and stood by Amelia’s bed as she carefully dressed herself in her uniform for the first time in months. It hung on her oddly, but wasn’t as loose as he’d feared. Then, with a deep breath, she put her hand on the bedframe and heaved herself up, slowly moving for the door that Makariy had left open. On the way, she grabbed the cloak hanging off a chair and wrapped it around herself, too focused on the walk to notice the embroidered anchors at the edges.

Hornblower walked beside her, discussing ship matters and the course to take for England, trying to keep her mind off the long distance from her room to the door to the outside. Her tread was firm, but the stride was short, and since she was also set on making it without leaning on anything, she had to move carefully to conserve her strength. She faltered once, halfway down the hall, but although Hornblower put a hand behind her back in preparation, he tried to give no outward sign that he’d noticed. Amelia just put her hands behind her back, took a deep breath, and continued walking. When they reached the door, her hand lingered on the knob just a second longer than necessary before she pushed it open.

Fortunately, the docks were a fair distance away from the building, and thus a carriage was all but required, and Amelia made no protest when she saw it waiting for them. She climbed in, Hornblower on her heels, and consented to letting the doctors drape her in blankets before they set off, face shining with sweat but a look of triumph on her face. Hornblower squeezed her wrist, and she smiled at him.

He took the blankets back from her as the carriage slowed before the dock. She stepped out, hand on the carriage for support. It seemed clear that her strength was going, but she was ignoring it as best as she was able. Hornblower just folded the blankets and walked a step or two behind her, pausing when she paused.

It was only when she tilted dangerously to the left and gave a soft “Oh,” that he had had enough. He stepped up to her and placed on hand on her back. “I think that’s quite enough.” He said, before he bent down and lifted her up into his arms. She still felt lighter than she should, but the fact that his back gave a spasm of pain actually encouraged him. Amelia gasped as her feet left the ground. “Horatio, let go! I can manage.”

“You’ve managed brilliantly,” he said, settling her more comfortably, “But you’ll never make it to the boat. In the long run, I’d think you’d rather be carried than to collapse. This way, when we reach the _Legacy_ , you might have enough strength to climb aboard and greet your crew.”

She looked him in the eyes for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then her head fell against his shoulder and her arms went around his neck. He smiled gently and carried her the rest of the way, settling her into the waiting boat, though she seemed loathe to let go. Ten minutes later, she did indeed take small, hesitant steps up the rope ladder to the thunderous cheers of her men.

That night, propped up on her bed and looking over paperwork, she looked over at Hornblower, who was making tea for the both of them. “Did you really delay your return to England for two months for my benefit?”

“And why wouldn’t I?”

She just shook her head. “Displaying the old favoritism again. The Admiralty would be scandalized.”

“I would have done the same for any of the captains serving under me,” Hornblower said, keeping his tone even, “I am always concerned about the health of my officers.”

Amelia’s eyes glittered, and he knew exactly what she was thinking. “I think that particular examination will have to wait,” he said, handing her a cup of tea, “You aren’t quite ready for that kind of exertion.”

Though he had perfectly good quarters prepared for him next to the Captain’s room, he stayed there that night, sitting by Amelia’s bedside until she fell asleep. Then, stripping down to his shirt and trousers, he slid into bed beside her and put one arm over her waist, planting a kiss on the back of her neck. Well, the doctors had said she’d need some extra warmth, after all.

***

_“…And I swear, he leapt three feet in the air and ran out the door, furious at the ‘abundance of rats’ in the room. I don’t think I stopped laughing for a good hour.”_

_She shook her head and took another sip of wine. “Kennedy, if you continue to torment your lieutenants like this, you’ll be hard pressed to staff your ship once they’re promoted.”_

_“He’s the one who insisted on taking all the good blankets,” Archie said mildly, “He brought it on himself.”_

_“I’m glad I never got on your mischievous side,” Horatio said dryly, but his eyes shone with amusement, “Or I might have deserted long before I made Junior Lieutenant.”_

_Archie refilled their glasses. “To the people we tolerate, then?” he asked, jokingly._

_She raised her glass. “I prefer to think of it as people we aren’t afraid to hold on to.” Archie, bemused, touched his glass to hers. Horatio followed suit a moment later, his other hand lightly brushing her leg, and she gave another, secret smile as she put the glass to her lips._


	9. Five Times Horatio and Amelia Were Surprisingly Domestic (And the One Time No One Was Surprised)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for bear_girl1393, as a fill for a prompt she left on my journal.

ONE  
The marriage between Captains Amelia Drake and Horatio Hornblower was pretty much an open secret at this point. Whenever the _Legacy_ and the _Sutherland_ happened to pass each other, both crews could expect to drop anchor for the night while the signal flags went up. The crews were surprisingly sympathetic about it. After all, Captain Drake had been dealt a bad hand in life, and war wasn’t exactly a pleasant pastime. Why begrudge them the occasional fling?

That didn’t stop the _Legacy’s_ crew from joking about what the two of them got up to once the cabin door closed, though. Jokes were made about “priming the cannons”, “rounding the horn”, or “blockading the English channel.” Curious midshipmen sometimes hung about the cabin door, sneaking glances when the two captains emerged, looking for flushed faces or rumpled clothes. But Hornblower and Drake were both highly invested in remaining discreet and above reproach, so there was never any suspicious evidence.

Then, one night, when Captain Hornblower was visiting the _Legacy_ , crewman Vicks spotted a sail. It fell to Midshipman Carter to alert the captain. Flushed with embarrassment but knowing there was nothing for it, he rapped on the door.

“Come in.” Captain Drake sounded surprisingly calm, and although Carter had his ear pressed to the door, there was no sound of rustling. Unsure what he was about to walk in on, Carter pushed the door open.

To his amazement, both Hornblower and Drake were fully dressed, with no indication that they had ever gotten undressed. They were both sitting at Drake’s table, Hornblower nursing a glass of brandy, while Drake… Carter had to blink to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. Drake appeared to be sewing, something bright blue with red and pink flowers. Drake set her needlework aside and rose to her feet. “What is it, Carter?”

Carter composed himself and gave his news, and Drake gave Hornblower a nod. “Will your ship join me in the chase, Captain Hornblower?”

“I believe so. It’ll only take a minute to get my boat underway.”

The next two hours were a blur of maneuvers and cannon fire, culminating in the capture of a French supply ship. Prize crews from both ships were dispatched, and it was determined that the _Legacy_ and the _Sutherland_ would continue on their courses. Drake and Carter wound up side by side at the railing, watching Hornblower’s ship depart. After a few minutes, Drake, not taking her eyes from the ship, said, “Mr. Carter, I do hope that after tonight, the midshipmen will be found at their stations whenever Captain Hornblower comes by for a visit. After all, my guests should be allowed a quiet, peaceful visit.”

Carter turned red, but murmured “Aye-aye, sir.” all the same.

TWO  
Captain Drake had more than earned her nickname of “Wildcat” amongst her crew, but she had another, more private reputation among the _Legacy’s_ officers. While she wasn’t ostentatious about it, she did enjoy changing the décor of her room every few months, be it by rearranging furniture, hanging new curtains over her small window, or, when they’d return from shoreleave, completely overhauling the place. It was common to walk in one morning to give a report to Drake, only to have to blink and readjust to new colors or a new layout. The amazing thing was that Drake managed to do all of this by herself. Anyone who argued that women were “the weaker sex” had obviously never met Captain Drake.

Still, just because she was capable of moving furniture single-handedly didn’t mean that she could do it perfectly. First Lieutenant Yarrow entered her cabin one morning to another change, but the first thing that caught his eye was a rather nasty gash in the wall where Drake’s desk used to be. It was obvious that a corner had scraped along the side, leaving white grooves at best and a deep cut in the wood at worst. Drake had polished the desk corners to hide the damage on that end, but there wasn’t much she could do about the missing wood. Yarrow could tell Drake was annoyed at herself for causing damage, but she was employing the policy of “We will never speak of this.” and Yarrow was more than prepared to follow her example.

A week later, the _Legacy_ had a rendezvous with the _Sutherland_ , to the crew’s quiet amusement. It seemed, however, that there was actually an official reason for the meeting; Captain Hornblower had been asked to track down the _Legacy_ and accompany it back to England, where they would receive a new set of orders. Curious about this new assignment and excited about a change of pace, the men happily set to work turning the ship for home.

As they’d expected, Captain Hornblower paid a visit to the _Legacy_ that night, his first officer in tow. He, Drake, Bush, and Yarrow passed a pleasant evening over dinner, wine, and a hand of whist. Yarrow couldn’t help but notice Hornblower’s eyes constantly flicking over to the mark on the wall, although his glances seemed less disapproving or puzzled than probing. Drake said nothing about it, and Yarrow knew it wasn’t his place to say anything.

When the cards had been set down for the final time (Hornblower, unsurprisingly, was the clear winner), Bush was sent back to the _Sutherland_ , and Yarrow departed a few minutes later, due for his watch. He had barely gone twenty paces from the cabin when he realized with a start that he’d left his pocketwatch on Drake’s table. Embarrassed and rushed, Yarrow returned to the cabin, and, wanting to make it quick, knocked on the door at the same minute he pushed it open. “Terribly sorry, Captain, but I left my watch be…”

He stopped, unsure if he was seeing things correctly. Hornblower and Drake were both sitting on the floor in front of the damaged wall. One of Hornblower’s hands was tracing the grooves, the other had clearly frozen in mid-gesture. Based on Drake’s posture, she had been listening to him intently, and…was that a dinner knife in her lap?

Both of them looked over at him as he entered. Then Drake gestured over to the table. “It should be right where you left it, Yarrow. Make sure you shut the door behind you, if you please.” Then she turned back to Hornblower. “Go on, Horatio.”

Hornblower immediately turned back to the gash. “It won’t be anywhere near as smooth as if it was done by a repair crew, of course, but if you cut carefully, you should be able to smooth the wood well enough that it should be impossible to tell if it’s a cut or just the grain of the wood. Here, let me show you…” Yarrow, knowing better than to linger, grabbed his watch and returned outside.

When he came in the next morning to give Drake a report, the gash had all but vanished, and the white marks had been covered over with paint. Yarrow smiled a little; who knew Hornblower was a handyman as well?

THREE  
It was a tradition among the flotilla to, once a week, take turns hosting dinner. Each week, a table would be laid out, and the four captains plus Hornblower would sit down to discuss the trip, the mission, and any news from the ships. It was an excellent way for the captains to get to know each other, and allowed Hornblower a chance to relax, albeit slightly. With three out of the four captains familiar with him, he found it easier to joke and reminisce.

This week, it was Amelia’s turn. Though supplies were starting to run a little thin, she’d set aside her best goose for the occasion, and while there was no dessert, there was still a fair bit of wine available. The conversation was lively, thanks to Archie’s ability to tell a good story, and Hornblower felt the bundle of nerves in his stomach uncoil by an inch or so. They would be sighting Russia in three days, if his calculations were correct, and then an entirely new set of orders would be handed to him. It was the unknown that always unnerved him, and he hoped they’d come in sight of land soon.

“I think it’s best if we lay off the wine, gentlemen,” Amelia said, rising to her feet and corking the bottle, “We need to be on our best behavior for the men, after all. Can I interest anyone in coffee?”

When all the men murmured an affirmative, she smiled and turned towards the steward’s entrance. “I’ll have it ready in about ten minutes. Feel free to set up a hand of cards if you’re so inclined.” With a wave of her hand, she disappeared down the staircase.

“Quite the perfectionist, isn’t she?” Captain Fresh, the only outsider to the group, said as he watched her vanish.

“What do you mean?” Hornblower said, looking at Fresh intently.

Fresh blanched a bit. “I mean…well…going to make the coffee for herself? She has a steward to do that for her! What other reason would she have to make it other than making sure it was just so for these dinners? I wouldn’t be surprised if she cooked the goose herself, too!”

“I highly doubt that,” Archie interjected, “When I was her first officer, she prefered to stay away from the poultry. They seemed to think she was their natural enemy.”

“Still, it seems odd for a captain to do something so mundane,” Fresh persisted, “Unless she’s keeping her hand in for her post-war life, I can’t fathom why…”

“Let’s leave it at that, shall we?” Hornblower said politely but firmly, “Captain Drake will return shortly, and I highly doubt she’d appreciate being gossiped about. Why she chooses to make the coffee herself is her business. Now, _is_ anyone interested in a game of cards?”

By the time Amelia returned, Archie was in the process of shuffling the deck. Amelia went round and poured coffee for everyone, lingering just long enough to give Hornblower’s leg a pat before moving back to her place. Hornblower shot her a sideways smile and picked up the cup, sipping carefully before smiling. Only Brown and Amelia knew how to get the coffee to the consistency he liked.

FOUR  
“Come on, put your backs into it, men!” Lieutenant Nast barked as the boats made their way towards the _Nonsuch_ , “We need to get these supplies sorted! The commodore wants us underway by sundown!”

He turned away, wiping his brow and sighing. The men were doing their best, he knew. It was just difficult to keep your mind on your work when confronted with an island paradise. Exotic fruits, strange keepsakes to send home to sweethearts, and beautiful women all made it tempting to linger on shore and barter for just a little extra. If he’d gone ashore, Nast knew he wouldn’t have been immune to it either.

“Boat ahoy!” the lookout called, “Commodore Hornblower returning!”

“Clear a path!” Nast yelled down to the boats, “Let the Commodore through!”

There was a jumble of noise and a few accidental (though non-damaging) collisions, but the crew managed to sort it out, and Commodore Hornblower climbed up on deck to the twittering of the pipes. “I trust your excursion ashore was a pleasant one, Commodore?” Nast asked conversationally.

“Very much so,” Hornblower answered, “Has Commander Bush returned yet?”

“No, sir. I believe he’s dropping off the crew’s letters home. We expect him back presently.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll be in my cabin. Let me know when he returns.”

“Aye, sir,” Nast saluted. Hornblower nodded and moved away. He’d barely gone three paces when the parcel under his arm slipped and fell with a thump. Nast quickly stepped forward and scooped it up. “Your package, si…”

His voice trailed off when he caught sight of the parcel’s contents. The twine, poorly tied, had come loose, revealing a shell wrapped securely in the paper. Generally not one for such things, even Nast could tell that this was a magnificent specimen, opening up like a lady’s fan, shimmering in the sunlight so that it appeared to be flecked with gold, and a beautiful blue color besides. Nestled next to it were two smaller, more rounded shells, that were a reddish-orange color. They seemed too delicate and fragile to have much place on a ship of war.

Hornblower cleared his throat and held out his hand. “My package, Mr. Nast?”

“Sorry, sir,” Nast said, handing it over, “They’re lovely. I didn’t know you had an interest in such things, Commodore.”

“They aren’t for me,” Hornblower said, tying the twine more securely, “It’s a gift for…someone I know. They’re just the sort of thing to brighten up a cabin.” With that, he nodded to Nast again and made his way to his cabin.

Nast, who was a model officer but a bit of a gossip, couldn’t help but report all this to Commander Bush when he returned. Bush just laughed and shook his head. “It’s nothing to worry about, Nast. But I wouldn’t go repeating it, or he’ll have your hide.” Nast, confused, saluted and put it out of his mind. Perhaps this was just something he’d understand as he rose through the ranks.

FIVE  
Archie Kennedy liked to think he knew his closest friends fairly well. He’d been there for most of Horatio’s formative years in the Navy, and he’d served under Amelia for eight years, acting as adviser, confidant, and occasional verbal punching bag. Thus, he knew that Horatio would rather get shot than show emotion, and that Amelia hated anybody treating her like she was incapable of doing things for herself. In a strange way, those two viewpoints meshed quite well with each other, and Archie was happy that his dearest friends were able to simultaneously remain true to themselves while drawing the other out of their shell.

Still, it was a bit of a shock to see the two of them the day they were meant to go for a ride to show Archie the extent of their lands at Smallbridge. The groom brought out the horses, and Archie climbed onto his without any trouble. He waited for his hosts to mount, trying to repress a smile. Horatio had improved since his first attempt to ride all those years ago in Muzillac, but he’d never been completely comfortable on a horse, especially getting on and off of them. Amelia, meanwhile, had spent her childhood riding sidesaddle and the rest of the time away at sea, so she was even less experienced than Horatio was. Archie looked forward to seeing how she managed to maneuver herself into the saddle while retaining as much dignity as possible.

But Amelia didn’t even try to stare the beast into submission. Instead, Horatio came forward and took her hand, placing the other on her back. When they were level with the horse, he brought their hands up, rubbing her hand as she curled her fingers around the bridle. Then he grasped another section of the bridle and helped push Amelia upwards as she tugged herself over the saddle. It might not have been the most graceful mounting, but Amelia remained unruffled, settling herself more comfortable in the saddle while Horatio turned to his own horse. Archie was sure he was staring, and did his best to compose himself. Horatio being affectionate? Amelia accepting help? What madness was this?

The ride passed without incident, and when they returned to the house, Amelia returned to form and slid down off the horse with a minimum of fuss. Dusting herself off, she went up to the house to look in on dinner, leaving Horatio behind to give instructions to the groom. Archie lingered, leading his horse back to the stable, unsure if he wanted to call attention to what had happened and maybe make one or both of them self-conscious.

He needn’t have worried. As the two of them left the stables, Horatio glanced at Archie and said “Forgive the slight delay when we set out, Archie. We haven’t entirely gotten used to these horses yet, so we need to approach them carefully. Besides, I still remember the incident at Muzillac. I refuse to let anyone else suffer the same indignity.”

“Of course,” Archie said, finally allowing himself to grin mischievously, “I understand completely.” He thought Horatio shook his head affectionately as he opened the door to let Archie into the hall first.

SIX  
It had been a particularly brutal battle. Rough storms, fog, and cannon smoke had obscured most of the ships from each other, the only indication of positions the shouting of men and the crack of gunfire. Coordinating attacks was all but impossible. Still, the British had carried the day, having sunk one of the attacking ships and pounded the second one into submission. It almost didn’t seem worth it to send out a prize crew, but the _Nonsuch_ was making arrangements anyway.

“Send up the signal flags!” Hornblower snapped, “'Commodore requests captains come aboard to give damage reports.'”

“Aye, sir.” Bush said, turning to repeat the order. Behind him, Hornblower started pacing back and forth, his feet clattering against the wood. It seemed unwise to speak to him at the moment, even to offer words of comfort, and Bush left him be, peering through his spyglass and trying to spot the answering flags.

_The King’s Spirit_ answered first, Kennedy coming aboard pale and breathless, but still relatively cheerful, reporting limited casualties and relatively minor damage. He’d glanced at Hornblower as he climbed aboard, and Hornblower had given his head a slight shake, so small that it could have been mistaken for the natural rocking of the boat. Kennedy nodded, a flicker of concern in his eyes, before finishing his report and being dismissed back to his ship to get repairs underway. Then came the _Torrential_ , Captain Fresh giving his report quickly and efficiently. Hornblower nodded at the right moments, but Bush knew he was barely listening. Fresh was dismissed, and Bush glued the spyglass to his eye once more.

Then, finally, he spotted something bobbing in the water, making its way towards the _Nonsuch_. “Boat spotted, sir!” he called, feeling a bit of relief himself, “It looks like the _Legacy’s._ ”

Hornblower stopped pacing at once and held himself ramrod straight, hands behind his back. Only when the pipes twittered and a familiar pair of ears appeared over the railing did his shoulders collapse into a more natural position.

Captain Drake was not her normal composed self. Her hair was flying every which way, there was a rip in the sleeve of her jacket, and she was walking with a hint of a limp. But she had enough presence of mind to approach her commodore and give the required salute. “Captain Drake, reporting as ordered, sir.”

Hornblower nodded curtly. “At ease, Captain Drake.”

Bush wasn’t sure which one moved first, but the next thing he knew, they were tangled up in each other, Drake clinging onto Hornblower’s shoulders, Hornblower’s face buried in her hair. “Damned fog,” he heard Drake say, “We didn’t see your signal until twenty minutes ago.”

“Is everything all right?” Hornblower murmured, so softly that Bush barely caught it, and that was only by virtue of being an arm’s length away.

Drake nodded. “The _Legacy’s_ been torn up pretty badly, but we held out. I’m afraid I’ll have to break from the flotilla and return to England for repairs, though. After which, I’ll probably be reassigned.”

“I give you leave to depart in the morning,” Hornblower said, pulling away just enough to brush her hair out of her face, “But I want to examine the damage for myself. Mr. Bush!” he raised his voice on the last words.

“Yes, sir?” Bush said, acting for all the world like he hadn’t been eavesdropping.

“I’ll be taking my leave of the _Nonsuch_ briefly to have a look at the damage to the _Legacy_. Make sure repairs are underway by the time I’ve returned.”

“Aye, sir.” Bush nodded. Drake led the way back to her boat and disappeared over the side, Hornblower at her heels. When Bush put his eye to his spyglass a minute later, he could see the two of them at the front of the boat, leaning into each other. He smiled slightly before turning around to glare at the men who had been witness to the whole scene, daring them to make any sort of comment. But not a man of them looked snide or teasing. Indeed, they all had a look of sympathy on their faces. He nodded brusquely and starting giving orders for repairs.

Perhaps Hornblower and Drake had an unusual arrangement, but they had some things in common with more traditional couples. And no one, officer or crewman alike, would begrudge a couple a reunion.


	10. Era's End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight warning: There are spoilers here for "Lord Hornblower" and "Flying Colors."

Amelia Drake stood on the quarterdeck, watching the seas for any ships. The privateers weren’t as frequent as they used to be, but then, old Boney was clearly on the defensive now, and he had to devote his resources to other things. The fact that she had contributed to his lack of resources filled her with a certain satisfaction.

She spotted it a second before the lookout did; a small dot on the horizon that was unquestionably a ship. “Can you see the colors?” she called up.

A brief pause, and then, “British colors, Captain! I believe they’ve spotted us as well; they’re raising flags.”

Amelia waited patiently for the interpretation. The man at last called down with, “‘Wonderful news, request the presence of your Captain.’”

She rolled her eyes slightly. Unless this was a ship she’d met before, she’d be having to deal with a new set of disbelieving stares. But duty was duty, and she nodded. “Very good, Callwell. Signal back that I will board when they are in range.”

A few minutes later, the ship was close enough to get a good look at. It was slightly larger than the _Legacy_ , a fourth-rate most likely, and was starting to show signs of wear. A glance through the spyglass revealed that it was the _Diomede._ Amelia nodded, snapped the glass shut, and ordered her men to prepare a boat. Smoothing down her uniform, she deemed herself ready for the visit.

To the immense credit of the _Diomede’s_ crew, they only faltered for a second in the twittering of the pipes as she stepped aboard. Her captain, a grey-haired gentleman, was similarly polite, a brief widening of the eyes his only reaction before he inclined his head at her. “Captain Tisdale of the _Diomede_.”

“Captain Drake of the _Legacy_ ,” Amelia responded, bowing in kind, “You signaled news?”

Tisdale’s eyes lit up. “Oh yes, fantastic news. Come along to my cabin and I will explain everything.”

Once inside his quarters, Tisdale offered her a drink, which she accepted for the sake of politeness. Besides, any man who didn’t demand an explanation of her right away deserved to be treated right. Tisdale took a sip of port before he said, “The news has been traveling all across the ocean. Boney’s through, absolutely through.”

“What’s happened?” Amelia asked, interest piqued.

“Our boys in the army have been busy,” Tisdale answered, “Marched right into Paris last month. The French apparently decided enough was enough, and turned on their emperor. He abdicated last week. It sounds like he’s being sent into exile.”

Amelia was glad there was a chair nearby, because her legs suddenly felt like they wouldn’t support her weight. The color must have drained from her face as well, because Tisdale looked alarmed. “Captain! Are you all right?”

“Fine, fine.” Amelia said vaguely, downing her glass to try to restore herself. It gave her enough time to gather her thoughts before she said “It’s over, then. The war.”

“It seems so,” Tisdale said, his enthusiasm breaking through his concern for her well-being, “From what I hear, there’s been celebration on both sides of the channel. Can’t really blame them, eh?”

“No, I suppose not,” Amelia said, setting down her glass, “Tell me, Captain, do you know where the fleet is?”

“Split between France and Britain, I believe,” Tisdale said, “Some are returning home, while others are making sure France returns to normal.”

She nodded, carefully rising to her feet. “Thank you for the news, Captain Tisdale. I’m sure my crew will be glad to hear it. I hate to come across as rude, but I must return to my ship. I have my orders.”

“Of course, Captain Drake,” Tisdale said, befuddled but obviously trying to be understanding, “I wish you luck.” She murmured her thanks and swept out of the room, barely aware of the men around her.

The entire ride back to the _Legacy_ , she sat folding and re-folding her hands, turning things over in her mind to work out a course of action. She knew Barnes was looking at her strangely, but knew better than to say anything to her. As she climbed up on deck, the sound of the bosun’s pipes shook her out of her reverie and caused a painful ache in her heart, though she tried to merely acknowledge it with a nod. Lieutenant Yarrow approached her. “What news, Captain?”

Amelia looked him over for a moment. Yes, he was more than ready for this. “Call the men, Mr. Yarrow,” she said quietly, “All of them will want to hear this.”

She stood on the quarterdeck once more, waiting for the men to assemble. When the deck below her was full, she took a deep breath and made her announcement. “I have just received word from the captain of the _Diomede_ that Napoleon Bonaparte has abdicated the throne of France. The war is over.”

There was dead silence for a moment. Then the men let out a cheer. Despite everything, Amelia gave a genuine smile; her men might have enjoyed tracking down privateers and adding to their coffers, but they didn’t want to keep fighting forever. This was welcome news to them. As the cheers subsided, she spoke again. “We will set a course for England, keeping an eye out along the way for any ship bearing an Admiral’s flag. Should we find one, command of the ship shall revert to Acting-Captain Yarrow.”

Murmurs sprang up all over the assembled company, and she knew they were only just remembering the fact she’d been living with for a decade. “That will be all,” she said, her words coming out sharper than intended, “Return to your stations.”

She turned and strode towards her quarters. It seemed as good a time as any to start packing her effects.

***

Amelia knew her crew was watching her every move, and treating her a touch more gently than usual. The crewmen sprang to attention whenever she walked by, and smiled whenever they said “Aye-aye, sir.” Her officers could often be seen glancing in her direction, and when they were invited to diner with her, they confined the conversation to nautical matters. Above all, however, they carried out their duties quickly and efficiently, which warmed her more than any other gesture could have.

While part of her hoped they would make it to England before spotting an Admiral’s ship, she wasn’t about to plot a circuitous route to avoid running into other ships. Thus, five days after receiving the news, they ran into the _Caledonia_ , a familiar red flag floating from the masts. Amelia looked up at it for a minute, steeling herself. Then she turned and gave a last set of orders. “Hillman, please prepare a boat. Driften, run up the signal flags; ‘Captain wishes to meet with the Admiral’. Report to me when you receive a response. Mr. Yarrow, come along with me.”

The men immediately sprang to work. Yarrow, meanwhile, followed Amelia into her cabin. “Yes, Captain?”

Amelia strode to her seachest, shutting and locking it firmly. “You will accompany me to the _Caledonia_ to receive new orders. If you are amenable, I will take your quarters until we have landed at the nearest port.”

“Captain, you shouldn’t have to…” Yarrow sounded like he wanted to object, but a sharp glance over her shoulder silenced him. “I believe that will be fine.” he said instead.

“Good. If you don’t mind, could you give me a hand with this chest? I’d like to handle the transfer with a minimum of fuss.”

Yarrow obligingly took hold of one handle and lifted. Amelia followed him, surprised at how light it really felt. She distinctly remembered it being heavy and unwieldy when she’d brought it aboard on her first day of command, and she’d recently packed it to the brim with all her current possessions, yet it was barely a strain on her arms. Perhaps her years of service had given her more muscle than she’d expected.

The two of them carefully maneuvered the chest out of the captain’s cabin and into the smaller cabin reserved for the first officer. “This will serve,” Amelia said, looking around as they set the chest down in an unoccupied corner, “I don’t intend to do much in the way of unpacking, so I shouldn’t be too cramped. Are you ready to move?”

Yarrow put his hands behind his back, glancing guiltily around the room, which, while neat, looked unquestionably lived in. “I…I had thought that perhaps we would make it to England before the transfer. My apologies, Captain.”

“No matter,” Amelia said, waving a hand, hoping against hope that her voice wasn’t wavering, “We’ll move your seachest, at least, and you can fetch your other effects when we return.”

They had just gotten Yarrow’s seachest inside the captain’s cabin when the rap came on the door. “Come in!” Amelia said sharply. Driften poked his head through the door. “Response just came, sir. You have permission to come aboard.”

She nodded and gestured for Yarrow to help her set the chest down. “Thank you, Driften. I will be along presently.”

In the midst of her packing, Amelia had left out one item, which was still laying on her desk. With a deep breath, she approached it and picked up her sword, buckling it to her waist one last time. Then she tugged at her cuffs and sides, trying to make sure her jacket was straight. “What do you think, Yarrow? Am I presentable enough for the Admiral?”

Yarrow smiled sadly. “He will have no cause for complaint, Captain.”

“That’s up for him to decide, Yarrow,” she said softly, running a hand through her hair, “Let’s not keep him waiting.” With one last sweep of her uniform, she stepped towards the door and opened it…only to stop in her tracks.

Her crew, from powder monkey to Lieutenant, had gathered in two rows in front of the door, creating a path towards the small boat. As she stepped out, they drew their swords and held them in front of them in a salute. She involuntarily put a hand to her chest, blinking rapidly. It took another moment for her to compose herself before she began to walk between the men, nodding to each in turn.

“Three cheers for Captain Drake!” came Lieutenant Blakeney’s voice from somewhere in the middle of the group, and the men cheered as one. The lump of grief that had settled in her stomach swelled with every “Huzzah!” and she had to cough to try to keep the ache out of her throat. As she reached the boat, she turned back to look at them, straightening her back. “Thank you,” she said, hoping her gratitude was obvious in her tone, “You all have served me well these past years. I hope that you treat Captain Yarrow with the same respect and devotion to duty. The Navy needs men like you, and I expect none of you to forget that.”

There was another cry of assent, and she nodded sharply before turning towards her boat, Hillman and Barnes coming forward to row. The Bosun’s pipes twittered, and she made the climb down, gripping onto the rope harder than she’d intended.

The journey to the _Caledonia_ felt interminable, but the moment she came up alongside, she wished it could last another few minutes. She grabbed onto the ladder and stepped aboard, holding her head high. The least she could do was be gracious about all this.

Although the Captain was clearly staring at her in disbelief, she introduced herself and asked to be directed to the Admiral. He nodded and gestured over towards a nearby cabin. Amelia nodded in response and headed in that direction, Yarrow on her heels. Outside the door, she put her hand on his shoulder. “Wait outside, Mr. Yarrow. You will be called if needed.” Yarrow gave her a sympathetic glance as he said “Aye, Sir.” She lifted her hand and rapped on the door, opening it at the call to enter.

A stern but approachable looking gentleman rose to his feet at the sight of her. She saluted. “Captain Amelia Drake of the _Legacy_ , sir.”

“Ah,” the man said, and she thought she saw a slight glint in his eye as he extended his hand and said “Admiral Sir Edward Pellew. I’ve heard about your exploits with the privateers, Captain Drake. A credit to the service and to England’s coffers.”

“Thank you, sir,” Amelia said softly, swallowing before she met his eyes again, “It’s an honor to hear that from you.”

Pellew sat down at his desk and gestured for her to take the chair opposite. “You wished to see me, Captain?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, remaining standing, her hand sliding to her scabbard, “If you have heard of me, I trust you have heard of how I came to be serving in the Navy.” When he nodded assent, she continued, “One of the provisos placed upon me was that, upon the end of the war with France, I was to find the nearest Admiral and resign my commission. You were the first one my ship happened upon.”

She drew the sword from its sheath and held it in both hands, extending it out to him. “I hereby formally resign my commission as captain of the _HMS Legacy_ , and hope that my request for discharge shall be considered and accepted.”

Pellew took the sword from her without a word, but the expression on his face was comforting, somehow, lessening the sting of her words. Sitting down, he took up pen and paper and began writing something. After a minute or so, he slid the paper over to her side of the desk and offered her his quill. “Sign below, Captain Drake.”

A quick scan of the document revealed that it was a formal declaration of her resignation, complete with date and a reassurance that Admiral Pellew had witnessed it. With a deep breath, she dipped the pen in the ink and signed her given name—Amelia Drake—one last time. “Thank you, Admiral.” she said, straightening up, the ache in her chest threatening to overwhelm her. She clenched her teeth for a moment to keep it at bay for another few minutes as she looked at him, waiting for him to dismiss her.

Pellew looked her over for a minute, considering something. At last, he said, “Have you brought your first officer along?”

“Yes, Admiral.”

“Have him come in. I believe I have a new set of orders for him. That will be all.”

“Aye, sir. Thank you.” she said again, turning to go.

“Hold on a moment.” he said. When she turned back, he was extending her sword to her. “An officer need not abandon his sword merely because he’s resigned. One never knows when it might come in handy.”

She took it back, blinking harshly. “Perhaps it will, at that.” With a nod and a salute, she left the cabin, returning the sword to its scabbard.

Yarrow sprang to attention automatically as she left the cabin. “None of that, Yarrow,” she chided, “That time has passed. The Admiral wishes to see you.”

Yarrow gave her a gentle look before he passed through the door. She busied herself with removing her captain’s jacket and folding it reverently. There was no need to wear it anymore, after all.

She looked up as the door opened again. Yarrow stepped out, a mixture of embarrassment, eagerness, and playfulness on his face. “I believe it’s time to return to the _Legacy_.”

He walked ahead, Amelia following behind. She kept her eyes on the deck, trying to keep herself focused. The loss was still too new for her to fully acknowledge what had just happened, but there was enough grief there that she knew she would eventually break down. But she would be damned if she let anyone else see it. They might suspect, but she wouldn’t allow anyone, save perhaps one, to commiserate with her. This was private.

Once they were safely in the boat and rowing towards the _Legacy_ , she found voice enough to ask. “If I may, Mr. Yarrow…what are the _Legacy’s_ orders? Shall we be returning to England?”

Yarrow shook his head, the playful look coming to the fore. “Not just yet. First, we are to make a call at Le Havre, France.”

She was so startled at that that she forgot to be polite. “Le Havre? Why on earth…”

“It seems,” Yarrow said, “that Commodore Horatio Hornblower has taken command of the place as military governor.  The admiral believed it would be beneficial to both him and the _Legacy’s_ captain to call upon him there.”

Amelia felt as though all the air had left her lungs. As she gave an involuntary gasp, Yarrow smiled a little. “I believe he may be right, at that.”

When they came up alongside the _Legacy_ , Yarrow went up first, the pipes twittering for him. She couldn’t bring herself to climb aboard until they were silenced. Once aboard, she gave curt nods to anyone who looked in her direction and made her way to her new cabin. Nobody approached her, which she was grateful for.

Inside, she leaned against the door and took deep, steadying breaths. She still wasn’t ready to let herself grieve. She was determined to wait until the _Caledonia_ was out of sight. Stepping into the room proper (which she noticed, peripherally, had been cleared of all of Yarrow’s possessions; some of the crew must have made the transfer while they were off ship), she knelt over her seachest and carefully set her jacket inside. Then she unbuckled her sword and lay it on top, giving both a soft caress.

She was just removing her hand from her sword when her fingers brushed against something queer to the touch. Looking down, she caught sight of a flash of red. With a dry exhale, she lifted up her wig, ruffled from lack of use but still useable. Turning it over in her hands a few times, she thought about just putting it back, bringing it out again once they arrived in Le Havre. She would be arriving in shirtsleeves and trousers after all; her ears would just compound the stares.

But then again, Horatio would be there too. Amelia could almost see him raising his eyebrows as he saw her descending, eyes trying to locate her ears under the mass of fake hair. And when they were alone, he would tug it off and set it aside, preferring to see her as she was.

“No,” she said out loud, clearly and firmly, “Never again.”

Standing up, she walked outside again, clutching the wig in her hand. She ignored the men around her, unaware if they might be glancing at her or not, keeping her eyes focused on the railing. Once she reached it, she looked out to sea for a moment, noting that the _Caledonia_ was already receding on the horizon. Lifting up the wig, she pulled her arm back as far as it would go and hurled it outwards, the wig sailing overboard and landing in the water. She watched it bob in the water for a moment, a spot of red in a mass of blue, then turned away and headed for the mast, wanting to be up high, feeling the wind in her face. No one tried to stop her.

There was no one on the fighting top when she got there. She sat down, back against the mast, and watched the waves. Occasionally she glanced up, watching as the _Caledonia_ got smaller and smaller before it disappeared entirely. When it was no longer visible, she looked out at the ocean proper, eyes taking in the position of the clouds, the swell of the waves, the spray of foam as the _Legacy_ glided over the water. She was so intent on watching that she wasn’t entirely sure when the tears started.

***

The _Legacy_ arrived in Le Havre three days later. Amelia was out on deck, arms on the railing, watching as the port came into view. Pained as she was, she was still able to feel a flicker of excitement at the prospect of seeing Horatio again. They hadn’t seen each other for a good seven months, and she hadn’t gotten a letter from him in three. It would do her good to see him again.

As they slid into port, she began to scan the area for any sign of him. There were several people, civilian and soldier alike, who were hanging around the port watching the new arrivals, no doubt intrigued by the influx of British citizens after such a long time of fighting against them. God only knew what they would make of her.

Then, at last, she caught sight of a familiar stiff profile, standing some distance away from the main crowd. She leaned forward and squinted to make sure. Yes, it was him, no question. Her heart jumped, even as the grief hit her anew. Stepping off the ship, she would officially be taking her place as Mrs. Amelia Hornblower instead of Captain Amelia Drake. She didn’t mind her title, but…well, the change was more than a little jarring.

It didn’t look like he’d spotted her yet. She stepped away from the railing and turned back to the ship, taking it all in one last time. Her crew (Yarrow’s crew, she reminded herself) was still as efficient as ever, and the decks were cleared for action, peace or no peace. She managed a slight smile, running her hand gently over the mast. The _Legacy_ was a beautiful ship, unquestionably. She could only hope that the next captain took good care of her.

“Cap…Mrs. Hornblower?” someone said beside her. She jumped a little and turned around to see Lieutenant Blakeney standing next to her. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

 “Captain Yarrow asked me to inform you that we’ve laid anchor. We’re setting the gangplank down now, and we’ll have men ready to carry your seachest wherever you wish.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Amelia said, adjusting her cuffs. “I’m not sure when I’ll next be seeing you, so let me take this opportunity to wish you luck in your future endeavors, be they Naval or otherwise.”

“Thank you, M’aam,” Blakeney said, giving her a little salute, “There is one other thing.”

“Yes?”

“The crew have been giving the ship a good cleaning. They want her to look her best when she arrives back in England.” Amelia smiled at that, glad that the crew shared her pride in their vessel. Blakeney continued, “Well, while they were working on the walls of the captain’s cabin, they must have pushed down a little too hard, because a piece came off.”

He pulled a piece of wood out of his pocket and held it out to her. It was S-shaped, just large enough to sit in the palm, and a beautiful rich brown color. She took it from him and turned it over in her hands. It was oddly smooth to the touch, as though it had been carefully sanded down. She looked at Blakeney, eyebrows raised. Blakeney remained unflappable as he said, “We’re already covering up the spot, but we thought that you might like to have this. Just to remember the old girl by.”

Amelia ran her thumb over the wood for a minute, looking at the deck around her. Then she slipped it into her pocket and smiled at Blakeney. “Thank you, Blakeney. I believe it will have pride of place in my bedroom.”

Blakeney smiled back and gave a salute. “Good Luck, M’aam.”

Amelia turned away and saw Yarrow standing at the gangplank, hands awkwardly behind his back. She approached him and extended her hand. “I wish you an uneventful voyage back to England, Captain Yarrow. May the Admiralty see fit to give you a long-overdue promotion.”

“Thank you,” Yarrow said, grasping her hand, “Good luck to you too.”

She inclined her head and released his hand, unsure what else she could say. With a deep breath, she stepped off the _Legacy_ and onto the gangplank. Twelve strides brought her down to the dock and dry land. Looking up, she saw Horatio standing a few feet away, his expression one of warm surprise. As he smiled at her, she felt another wave of grief strike her, and she walked forward briskly, wrapping her arms around him as soon as he was close enough to touch. She buried her face in his shoulder, fingers clutching onto his coat. His own arms went around her carefully, tentatively, and he murmured softly into her ear. “It’s good to see you again, Amelia.”

 She wanted to respond in kind, but the only words that came out of her mouth were “It’s over. The war is over.”

“I know,” he answered, and she could tell from his voice that he understood what she really meant, “But it’s not the end of everything.”

He started to pull away, and she was reluctant to let go. But then he took her hand and led her to a waiting carriage, where he let her climb in first while he conversed with the coachman. Once they were safely inside, he cupped her face in his hand and kissed her, his free hand running up and down her ear. “It’s going to be all right,” he said softly, looking into her eyes, “I’ll do my best to ensure that.”

She grabbed his lapels and kissed him again, wanting so very hard to believe it. Perhaps later, it would be easier. But for now, she just felt adrift, unsure what exactly she was supposed to do now. Horatio was her only lifeline now, and she would cling to it for dear life.

They stopped in front of a surprisingly elegant house, where Horatio gave her a brief tour before settling her in his rooms. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he assured her, hands rubbing her shoulders, “I need to try to convince everyone that I have slightly more important matters than paperwork to attend to.”

She smiled faintly as he left, then tugged off her boots and lay down on the bed, curling in on herself slightly. Closing her eyes, she listened to the noises around her; the wind outside, horses hooves, the faint sound of footsteps elsewhere in the house. It was a few minutes before she realized she was subconsciously rocking back and forth, too used to the roll of a ship. She swallowed and gripped the bedsheets to ground herself, though she allowed the rocking to continue.

She was still in that position when Horatio returned. He didn’t say a word, but he soon joined her on the bed, one arm across her waist, the other fiddling with her ears and hair. They stayed like that for some time, until a knock on the door heralded the arrival of her seachest. Horatio directed the men (dockhands, not people from her own ship) to set it down in a corner of the room and dismissed them as quickly as he could, while she straightened up and smoothed her clothes. When they had gone, she stretched out properly on the bed and looked at Horatio. “So,” she said, trying to put a bit of the old verve into her voice, “Military governor, eh? I hope the ability to command the French here hasn’t gone to your head.”

He smiled a little and sat across from her at the desk. “I try to keep that from happening. And fortunately, now I have a sharp-tongued adviser to keep me in check.”

“Well, then, I shall do my best to live up to that position.”

Horatio shook his head and rose to join her on the bed. “That can keep until tomorrow.”

The rest of that day passed in a haze of light conversation, soft touches, and a meal brought in specially for them. That night, Horatio very firmly locked the door behind him before kissing her, hand sliding over her body. She responded by grabbing his lapels and shoving him towards the bed.

He let her do whatever she wanted that night. Dimly, she knew why, and was touched by the gesture. Their lovemaking was a little rougher than normal, Amelia’s nails digging into the bedframe, teeth grit with the exertion. She willed her mind to go blank, to work herself into exhaustion. Perhaps once she awoke, all of this would be a little easier to bear.

***

It couldn’t be that simple, of course. Amelia now found herself at loose ends, unsure what to do with herself. It was easiest when Horatio was with her, for then they could talk about the post-war cleanup and other things. But he had his duties to attend to, and she wouldn’t have asked him to spend all his time with her anyway. She could only do so much reading, she balked at doing too much riding or walking around the town because of her ingrained sensitivity, and no one here knew her well enough yet to really strike up a friendship. Somehow, she found herself sitting on a chair, sewing, unsure exactly what design she was making or exactly when she was going to stop. The creation of patterns and concentration on the stitches was enough to keep her mind focused without drifting to more unpleasant things, and she lost herself in it, only looking up when the light dimmed, her stomach protested, or when Horatio entered the room.

It was about a week, when the project had grown to the size of an ankle length apron, before the edge was taken off her loss and she suddenly began to become aware of things outside of her reduced life. The French, she realized, were looking at her not with shock, but with a sort of grudging respect. She got the distinct impression that someone had informed them about her record with capturing French privateers, and her heart lightened a little at that. Then there was the natural beauty of the town, with soft warm sunlight and rustling plant life, things she’d never really gotten to appreciate since she’d entered the service. It was sort of nice, upon reflection, to be able to sit in the little garden and smell the scent of flowers all around her and feel the sun on her face, with nowhere to go.

Most of all, though, she started to notice Horatio. His smile seemed a bit tight at the edges, his hands more nervous. One evening, when he pulled away from a kiss, she looked into his eyes and blanched at what she saw. There was grief there, a loss that had hit him hard and left him reeling. Her heart gave a painful throb in recognition when she saw it, and she sat up, putting a hand to his cheek. “Horatio, what is it?”

She could tell his first impulse was to make some vague dismissal and try to change the subject. But she closed her other hand over his wrist and looked into his eyes again, both stern and concerned. He had to look away from it, but she knew he was going to tell her. After a deep breath, it finally came out. “We needed to send out a small group of boats to stop Napoleon from retaking the town. I put William…Mr. Bush in charge. I thought I was doing him a favor.” He gave a hollow laugh. “The news came in a few weeks before you arrived. The mission was successful…but several of the boats were destroyed. There wasn’t time or resources to look for many survivors…or bodies.”

 Amelia stood frozen to the spot as the full impact of his words hit her. Bush meant so much to Horatio. It was what Archie or Yarrow had meant to her, someone she could depend on, someone who put up with her little quirks. To lose that, without even the reassurance of a burial…that feeling must be indescribable. Yet he’d been forced to go about his paperwork, unable to fully comprehend that loss. And then, he’d had to deal with a wife in mourning, put on a smile and a comforting touch, when that’s what he should have been getting from her…

“How could I have been so _stupid_?” she said, causing Horatio’s head to jerk up in surprise. “I should have seen,” she murmured, touching his face again, “You shouldn’t have had to go through this alone.”

He gave a little shrug. “Your need was greater than mine. You had just left your ship and crew. I’ve had a good month to cope. You took precedence.”

His voice wobbled dangerously on the last sentence. Amelia just shook her head and pulled him against her chest, head flush with his shoulder. “I’m grateful for that, Horatio, I really am. But I’m going to feel guilty about this for weeks. At least let me have this little bit to assuage me.”

There was a soft pause before his arms slid up her back and held her gently. She started to give him a light caress, fingers gliding over his hair before rubbing his back as her fingers trailed downwards. When his shoulders gave an involuntary jerk and she felt a dampness against her shoulder, she shut her eyes tight and pursed her lips, willing herself not to become a weeping wreck. This was his moment, her chance to be his bulwark, and she wasn’t about to ruin it.

She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that—no more than half-an-hour, she was sure—but they were finally forced to break apart at a knock at the door. Someone was demanding the military governor’s attention once more. Horatio cleared his throat before calling out that he would be along in a few minutes. It was too dark in the room to fully make out Horatio’s face, but he seemed to have composed himself enough to face the current crisis with the usual brusqueness. He got off the bed and reached for his coat. “I’m not sure how long this will be,” he said apologetically to her, “Don’t stay up for me if you grow too tired.”

She nodded. “Don’t let them keep you up till dawn.”

“They’ll need to ply me with damn good coffee to keep me at it for that long.” Before he turned to the door, he leaned in and kissed Amelia on the forehead. “I…thank you.”

“Anytime,” she answered, touching his fingers, “It’s the least I can do.” He gave her hand a slight squeeze, lingering for a moment on her wedding ring, before he crossed to the door. Amelia waited until the door had closed again before she finished unbuttoning her  blouse and preparing for bed. She wasn’t entirely sure what the long-term effects of this would be, but she knew it had been necessary.

***

Horatio continued to go about his business, and Amelia started to tentatively reach out to the other British officers around the place. The pained look hadn’t left Horatio’s eyes, and the grief was still settled in her chest and flared to life at unexpected moments, but they had had their moment of catharsis, and it made it easier to bear. They didn’t speak of it, but she was sure Horatio was aware of it as well.

Another week passed. Amelia now felt confident enough to play cards with available officers, including one Frenchman who claimed a certain familiarity with her husband. She was skeptical, but he had a sense of humor she appreciated and only made subtle glances at her ears, and thus was willing to tolerate him. It was a good way to pass the time, between that, her walks in the garden, and the sewing work (at this point, she’d decided it would be a tablecloth, albeit one that would be used for family gatherings only). On a very rare occasion, if Horatio didn’t have as much work that day, she would join him in his office, looking over some of the less-important paperwork and helping him organize things. It wasn’t quite a routine, but the growing familiarity with the place made her feel a little more comfortable.

The two of them were bent over the desk, laughing at a particularly strange request for supplies, when there was the sound of men rushing down the corridor before the door banged open. A young man, midshipman by the looks of him, was grasping onto the doorframe, gasping for air and white as a sheet. “What is the meaning of this?” Horatio demanded, more surprised than angry.

“S-sir…” the man said, looking up, eyes wide with shock, “One of the Frenchies…along the river…” he paused to suck in a breath, “We’ve just found Commander Bush.”

Horatio’s hands suddenly splayed out flat on the desk, and Amelia got the distinct impression he was trying to keep himself steady. “Explain, Clarke.”

Clarke took another few breaths before he finally managed to get the words out. “One of the lieutenants was approached by a French couple who said that they found a badly injured man shortly after the failed attack on Le Havre. He was too addled to give his name, but they took him home and looked after him as best they could. Today, he finally came fully to himself, and they were able to learn that he was from the British Navy, and that his name was William Bush.”

Horatio rose to his feet. “Where is he?”

“Still with the French couple. They didn’t dare bring him with them. He…the doctor they sent for needed to perform a pretty drastic operation.”

“Are they here?”

Clarke nodded. “They wanted us to come and bring him back. They’re waiting to take a small party down to fetch him.”

Horatio nodded. “Fetch a doctor, British if possible. Then find four or five strong men to carry him if necessary. I will accompany you as well; I want to know exactly what happened to him.”

“Aye, sir,” Clarke saluted and disappeared again. Horatio grabbed for his cloak and looked apologetically at Amelia. “I have to,” was all he said, eyes shining, “I’m sorry, but I must.”

She waved a hand. “I understand, I really do. Go on, give your friend some reassurance. But I’ll expect a full report when you get back.”

He gave her a grateful smile before sweeping out of the room. Amelia waited until his footsteps had faded before she left the office, heading for their shared quarters. It would be the best place for him to find her and report the news. She hoped it was good, for his sake. Once inside, she sought out her tablecloth and began to sew, allowing her mind to go agreeably blank.

It was a good two hours before Horatio returned. Amelia set down her work the moment she heard the door creak, wanting to get a good look at him. He’d gone slightly pale, and his eyes were still wide with shock, but he had a small smile on his face. “Did you get him back all right?” Amelia asked, coming over to him.

Horatio nodded. “He’s settled comfortably in a room. The doctor gave him something to make him sleep.”

“How is he?”

Horatio seemed to unconsciously put a hand on his thigh as he said,  “The blast knocked him unconscious, but fortunately threw him towards the bank, which kept him from drowning. But the shrapnel tore into his leg, and there was no choice. The French doctor had to amputate. Our doctor said that he would have done the same thing. The wound has healed fairly well; when Bush is a little more stable, we’ll talk about trying to get him something to make it easier to walk.”

Amelia took his hands. “Was he glad to see you?”

“He was glad to know that I was safe, and that the war was won in our favor,” Horatio answered, though the glint in his eyes told more of the story, “He’s primarily preoccupied with what will happen to him now. I promised him that I would write the most glowing of reports. Perhaps that will convince the Admiralty to keep him on. If not, perhaps I can wrangle more half-pay…”

Amelia touched his lips to quiet him, trying her best to ignore the stab of pain at the mention of the Admiralty. “There’s time enough for that, Horatio. I think you should spend more time taking all this in. Brushing it aside isn’t all that healthy, you know.”

She reached up and tucked a stray curl behind his ear, giving him a smile. He paused for a moment, then crushed her in a hug, lips pressing hard against hers. She could feel his hands trembling on her back, and she just gave him a softer kiss. This time, she was ready to give him the reassurance and comfort that he needed and deserved.

***

Bush’s physical recovery was relatively slow, though it seemed that his spirit had returned shortly after he came to himself. Amelia didn’t see him very often—a combination of respect for Horatio and not wanting to overexert the man—but he did greet her politely when he was out taking in the sun, and she was happy to chat with him about his progress if he seemed inclined to discuss it. One more thing to keep her occupied, after all.

In fact, she was sitting and talking to Bush about the new possibility of his getting a wooden leg when Horatio approached the two of them, a letter in his hands and a rather stunned look on his face. “What is it, Commodore?” Amelia asked, always careful to use a formal address when they were out in public.

Horatio offered his hand to her. “I’m sorry to interrupt this conversation, Mr. Bush, but some news has come in that is particularly important for Mrs. Hornblower to hear.” Intrigued, Amelia accepted his hand and gave a brief goodbye to Bush before she was led back to their quarters. “What is it?” she repeated, as soon as the door had closed.

“The latest mail packet included two letters, one of governmental importance, the other of a slightly more personal nature,” Horatio said, picking another letter up from the desk, “It seems that Marie-Therese, the daughter of the late King, is coming to Le Havre in a few days. In her honor, we have been asked to throw a ball, including dressing in the fashions that were in vogue before the uprising.”

Amelia grimaced. “I would certainly be very interested in meeting her,” she said, “But…I have no clothes but my uniform, current fashion or otherwise. And there will certainly be no time to get something properly made. Perhaps it would be better if I…”

“I believe donning your dress uniform will be fine for the purpose,” Horatio said kindly, “That’s what I intend to do. You forget, Amelia, that there are a few soldiers and sailors here who don’t have access to their civilian clothes, either.”

“But…”Amelia said faintly, “My resignation…”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “There’s no harm in wearing the uniform one more time. You helped contribute to England’s victory; no one will begrudge you honoring that. I’ll make sure of that.”

She nodded faintly, unsure of the truth of this but willing to pretend for his sake. “You said there was another letter?”

“Ah, yes,” Horatio said, and now his voice had a touch of wonder in it, “I…here.” He passed the letter to her, “I think it speaks for itself.”

Amelia read through the letter curiously. She’d only gotten halfway down before she looked up in amazement. “The peerage?”

“Apparently so,” Horatio said, coming round to look down at the letter, “Lord Hornblower. Honor or not, I’m still not entirely sure what to make of it.”

She put her head on his shoulder. “I think it has quite a lovely ring to it. Lord Hornblower. It commands dignity.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Horatio said dryly, a hand sliding over her shoulder, “But I admit I do like the sound of Lady Amelia Hornblower.”

“Wh-what?” Amelia staggered back from him, “Lady…”

“Well, it’s not as if I’m the only one to gain the title, now is it? My family does so too, in particular, my wife. We need to be announced as Lord and Lady Hornblower, after all.”

Her hand came to her mouth, head shaking involuntarily. “No, no no, there must be some mistake. I can’t possibly be…”

“You are,” Horatio said, taking her free hand, “And after all you’ve been through, you deserve it.”

“But with these,” she gestured to her ears, “They can’t possibly accept me! They won’t be able to accept you! As a sailor’s wife, perhaps, even the wife of a high ranking one. But a Lord? No, they’ll close the doors in my face.”

“Listen to me, Amelia,” Horatio said, his voice taking on an authoritative tone, “The choice has been made. People will simply _have_ to accept it. And all it will take is an explanation and a few good stories, and I’m sure society will accept you.”

She sat down heavily on the bed, head in her hands. It was too much for her. It was something that she knew should comfort her and make her transition to civilian life easier. But all she saw was the grown-up version of the faces that had taunted her as a child. Hidden behind fans, perhaps, and not said directly to her face, but it would be there all the same.

An arm went around her shoulders, squeezing softly. “You won’t have to go this alone, you know,” Horatio murmured, “Do you think I’d leave your side at the first society party? When they realize I chose to marry you, and I make it clear that I have no regrets about that decision, they’ll be forced to be silent.”

Amelia lowered her hands, but was unable to meet his eyes. “If you say so, Horatio.”

“This is a little overwhelming for me too,” Horatio said, obviously trying a different tack, “But we’ll figure it out together. We’ll look out for each other, like we’re facing down the _Vacarme_ again.”

She smiled slightly at that. “Good,” Horatio said with satisfaction, kissing her forehead, “I have to start informing the rest of the men about the news. You stay here and take as much time as you need to compose yourself.”

Amelia fell back on the bed as soon as the door closed, staring up blankly at the ceiling. She could carry herself like a lady, and she could drink tea and play cards. And she was a fast enough learner that she’d be able to dance relatively well. But Society still felt much more important, full of little rules she’d never be able to remember. She already looked like an outsider; acting like one would ostracize her forever, and possibly Horatio along with her.

No. She couldn’t do that to him. If there was no getting out of it, then she would pull herself up and meet it with as much dignity and bravado as she could muster. She would give Horatio no reason to be disappointed in her. Practice, that’s what she needed. Practice and perhaps a few etiquette books.

She could tell Horatio was more than a little bemused with her in the days that followed. Of course, he was just walking in on her learning new card games or serving a ‘proper’ tea. She had a feeling even he would laugh if he saw some of the things she was getting up to. She acquired a fan from somewhere in town and started trying to learn how to wave it. She walked back and forth in the room, balancing a book on her head. Long periods of time were spent in front of a mirror, trying to curtsey. It didn’t help that the motion looked far too awkward when one was wearing trousers. Wrapping herself in the tablecloth only ended in a tumble. She gave up at that point, resigning herself to the fact that she would have to wait until they returned to England before she could master the curtsey. She had no idea what she would wind up doing when she was introduced to the princess, but she would face that as the moment drew closer. All she knew for sure was that when the moment came, Captain Drake and Lady Hornblower would both try to put their best feet forward. Both of them, she felt, would be up to the challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I know the inclusion of Pellew may seem a bit gratuitous, but according to Wikipedia (not always reliable but useful for my purpose) he was literally the best Admiral for the job, having been in the Mediterranean at the end of the war. Sometimes things just work out that way.


	11. Guiding Steps

Adjusting to life on land had been easier than she thought. The house was familiar, after all, having spent her shore leaves and one extended period of genuine convalescence there. It wasn’t too hard to find ways to pass the time; in fact, there were far more opportunities than there ever had been at sea. Best of all, the end of the war had meant that Horatio didn’t have many duties himself, and thus was on hand to support her through the rough spots. On the whole, Amelia supposed, she had no reason to complain.

But there was still the little matter of Society to deal with. Horatio had yet to be invited to some grand affair, and Amelia dreaded the moment when an invitation would arrive. Etiquette books could only do so much training, and she was still convinced that it wouldn’t be enough. You needed to look right, act right, say the right things, make yourself presentable. All the grace and wit in the world wouldn’t be enough to draw attention away from her particular shortcomings.

Besides, she was absolutely terrible with skirts. She’d eventually gone out and purchased two or three simple dresses for entertaining at home or making public appearances at Smallbridge, for propriety’s sake. While she welcomed the opportunity to practice her curtsey, she kept feeling as though she was going to get entangled in the skirt and fall over every time the cloth wrapped around one leg. For the most part, she left the dresses in the wardrobe and walked around the house in her shirtsleeves and breeches. Horatio never tried to dissuade her; truth be told, she thought he liked it.

So for a good six months after the war ended, Amelia was relatively content. It still stung, sometimes, to see her captain’s jacket and sword neatly resting in her seachest, but she had accepted that that phase of her life was over. Besides, with a husband in the same profession, she was never going to be fully out of it. Most of the few visitors they had to the house were former officers. There was Archie, irreverent as ever; Bush, who was now quite steady on his wooden leg; Yarrow, who had been retained as a full captain in the service; and Blakeney, who was spending his time on half-pay reading up on exotic animal species. She was always glad to see them, and more than once they got her laughing, which did her good.

Then there was the other set of visitors. Amelia still wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened, but she and Horatio had somehow managed to strike up a friendship while they were still in France. Charles Martin and his wife Héloïse were friendly and open enough that even Horatio had been happy to converse with them. Amelia liked them because they paid no mind to her ears; it seemed that they were in the habit of ignoring superficial differences. Once both parties had settled themselves back in England, Charles and Héloïse had asked if they could come round to Smallbridge for a visit. The visit went so well that Amelia and Horatio made their first post-war trip to London to pay a short visit of their own. They only stayed two days and didn’t venture out beyond the house, but Amelia still considered it a triumph.

Being with them was good for her in a different way. It gave her a chance to see for herself just how a woman of nobility was supposed to carry herself, and she got just enough gossip from Héloïse to know what Society ladies talked about. She’d never be able to fully disguise herself, but she’d be damned if those snobs found any fault with her comportment.

Amelia had always figured that when the summons came, it would be from Héloïse. She and Charles were in the right circles, after all, and another woman would be the perfect messenger. At the very least, she’d expected Horatio to be the one to relay the invitation to her. But upon reflection, it seemed clear that Kennedy was always meant to be the one, while visiting, to say almost casually, “Mama is giving a ball in about a month. I would be delighted if you and Amelia could attend.”

Amelia almost choked on her tea. “Are you sure she’ll want us there?” she said, sputtering, “It is _her_ party, after all.”

“She allowed all her children a handful of invitations,” Archie said calmly, “You two were the first I thought of.”

“I’m flattered,” Amelia muttered, “But…she knows, doesn’t she? She knows about the double-act we pulled back when you were my first lieutenant?”

“I did eventually let her in on the joke,” Archie acknowledged, “I assure you, Amelia, she bears you no ill-will. Seems convinced the whole thing was my idea.”

Amelia heard Horatio laugh, which didn’t improve her mood. “I…I don’t think I would be the best company.” she finished lamely, running out of excuses. Archie rested a hand on her arm. “Listen, Amelia. You have to come out sooner or later. And I would be honored if I could be the one to help you in that process. Besides, wouldn’t it be easier knowing you were among friends?”

“Your logic is impeccable,” Amelia said at last, “If Horatio is agreeable, I accept your invitation.”

Horatio nodded beside her. “I’m not one for society functions either, but I will hardly ever say no when it’s being given by a friend. Let us know when and where the ball is being held, and we’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

Archie leaned back in his chair, obviously delighted. “Excellent news. I’ll make sure to tell Mama to set out two more place settings. When will you want me around for the lessons?”

 “Lessons?” Horatio repeated, puzzled, while Amelia arched her eyebrows knowingly. Archie just smiled playfully, though his eyes were oddly serious. “The dance lessons, of course. Amelia will need a partner to practice her dance steps, and you aren’t exactly in a good position to teach her. Besides, one or two dances have come in vogue since the last time she was at a proper ball, which I may be able to guide her through. I may not be as good as a dance instructor, but I didn’t do too poorly last time.”

Amelia looked at Horatio, who was grimacing at the reminder that music and dancing were standard practice at a ball. No doubt he would be escaping to the card table the moment the first violin bow was lifted to the floor. All very well for him, but she would be expected to have a partner or two. And since he wouldn’t be able to dance with her (one more reason for Society to whisper), she would have to prove that she was a good dance partner. So she turned back to Archie and said, “Thank you for your kind offer, Archie. You may come around whenever you are available.”

“I’m just fulfilling my duties as a host,” Archie said, waving off her thanks, “We can start tomorrow, if you’d like. I’ll be here for another three days, which will be a good start. Horatio can find something to do in town if we disturb him too much.”

“Unless you plan on bringing in some accompaniment,” Horatio said dryly, “You won’t be a bother. Perhaps I’ll even come in and watch.”

“Let’s leave off that for now,” Amelia responded quickly, “I’d rather have a feel for the steps before anyone else sees me.”

Horatio seemed to understand. “You will have to update me on your progress.” was all he said, before tactfully changing the subject.

***

The next day, Archie met Amelia in their sitting room, the largest room in the house. He bowed to her, and she gave the best curtsey she could manage, having dressed in skirts for the occasion. “Let’s start with something a little familiar,” he said, taking her hands, “The quadrille is still in fashion, if only to start off the dances.  How much do you remember?”

Amelia closed her eyes, trying to remember her few turns around the dance floor all those years ago. “A little,” she concluded, unhelpfully, “Just start dancing and I’ll see if it comes back to me.”

Archie stood opposite her and bowed; she curtseyed in kind. As he walked towards her, she kept her eyes on his feet, trying to remember if she’d seen this before. For the most part, none of it was familiar, though once or twice she felt a flash of familiarity. When the dance was over, she looked back up at Archie, who seemed lost in thought as he considered her. “Not bad for a first showing,” he concluded at last, “But you’ll need a bit more practice before it looks right.” Amelia wasn’t surprised.

For hours (and she knew it wasn’t an exaggeration; for some maddening reason, quadrilles were half-an-hour in length) Archie walked her through the steps, indicating which way she should put her feet and what direction she was supposed to move. It felt like coordinating an attack on a ship, only with much more scrutiny attached if you stumbled. At least she was able to stop looking at his feet after the third quadrille.

“I think that will serve for now,” Archie said once they’d finished their fifth practice, “We can try it once or twice more this evening, and then tomorrow we can move on to some of the other dances.”

“Are they all like this?” Amelia asked, wiping her face. She dreaded how exhausted she’d feel once she was squeezed into a corset and was forced to go through all this. Archie gave a strange chuckle. “Mostly, yes. There are a variety of reels and other dances that require patterns and dancing in rows. But there’s a new phenomenon that’s starting to make headway into the aristocracy that may break that trend.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

He shook his head. “In good time, Amelia. Let’s focus on the fashionable dances first.”

She didn’t see Horatio until dinner, and he didn’t ask how the practice was going, perhaps aware that the first day was always the hardest. An hour later, she and Archie were back in the study, weaving through the quadrille again. When she finally dragged herself into the bedroom, she saw Horatio sitting in a chair, holding out  her riding crop, a decanter of Scotch on the table. “You always know what’s necessary, don’t you?” she said in relief, grabbing on to the bottle. He just rubbed her leg and waited for her to make the first move.

Amelia returned to the sitting room the next day feeling refreshed. Archie led her through the quadrille once more, and she was pleased to see that she only needed to be corrected three times. Perhaps there was some hope for her after all. The feeling increased as he showed her the basics of the reel, which was just similar enough to the quadrille that she was able to pick it up relatively easily. They worked on the reel for an hour or two, and then Archie gave her a little smile and said;

“I think that’s enough of that. It’s time to let you in on the most scandalous dance of the season.”

“And what would that be?” Amelia asked, admittedly intrigued.

“It’s called the waltz,” Archie said, grinning, “and the reason it’s so scandalous is because it’s much more, well…personal. Here, I’ll show you.”

And before Amelia was fully aware of what was happening, Archie had a hand on her waist and was pulling her in a circle. “Kennedy!” she yelped, more surprised than angry.

“I did warn you,” Archie said playfully, “Personally, I think it’s lovely, but the older generation is a bit more wary of it. It’s starting to catch on, though, and Mama’s agreed to have a round of waltzing at the party to see what the guests think.”

“So you want me to help encourage the debauchery,” Amelia said, pulling away slightly, “How utterly devious of you, Kennedy. I’d be delighted. What are the steps?”

Archie’s face lit up. “It’s much simpler than the quadrille. Just a three-step, really.”

He was right: It wasn’t long at all before she’d gotten the hang of the steps. Compared to the quadrilles and reels, this was child’s play. She found herself smiling when Archie broke away, nodding in approval. “I do hope this catches on. I’d be more willing to dance if they were all like this.”

 “Times are changing. Perhaps it will become a reality,” Archie said, “If nothing else, it’ll certainly be in vogue with sweethearts.”

Amelia suddenly pictured Horatio in Archie’s position, hand on her waist, face inches from hers, whispering in her ear as they spun across the floor. The room’s temperature seemed to increase, and she started examining her nails. “I can understand why.”

Archie grinned mischievously. “Shall we take a break for some water and then go through the quadrille again?”

That evening, Amelia was the one to suggest that Horatio come take a look at her progress. Even if he wouldn’t be dancing, she was sure he would be able to tell if she looked awkward while performing the steps, and was honest enough to tell her so. He accepted gracefully, and sat silently as Amelia and Archie walked through the various dances one by one. “Well?” Amelia demanded as she broke the waltz clench.

Horatio contemplated her for a moment. Then he said, a playful note in his voice, “I’m not sure how I feel about strangers putting their arm around my wife’s waist. Or friends, come to think of it.”

Archie laughed, and Amelia rolled her eyes affectionately. “ _My_ dancing, Horatio, not _the_ dancing.”

“Ah. In that case, I think you’ll be all right. You aren’t looking at your feet, and you carry yourself well. As long as you don’t appear nervous, you’ll probably be considered a fine dancer.”

She curtseyed to him. “Thank you, my lord, for the highest of compliments.”

He came to her side and clasped her hands. “You’ve been practicing for two days, and I’m sure you’re getting sick of looking at the same room and face for hours. Why don’t you take the evening for yourself and I’ll get Archie out of your way?”

“Very gentlemanly of you,” Amelia said, smirking at the put-out (and put-on) look on Archie’s face, “I accept your generous offer.” She bowed to both men before taking herself off for an evening of reading and cups of tea.

Archie returned to London two days later, promising that he’d send the invitations proper as soon as he returned home. Amelia waved him off, the nervousness returning. Horatio put a hand on her back and waited until the carriage was out of sight before turning to her and giving her an encouraging smile. “I believe, Lady Hornblower, that it’s time we contacted a tailor to make the most flattering, elegant gown ever devised. First impressions are everything, after all.”

***

Risky as it was, Amelia decided that the best way to make an impression was to make a statement. The gown that was delivered to her a week before the ball was dark blue, with golden accents at the waist, sleeves, and base. Based on the look on Horatio’s face when she displayed herself in it, she suspected she’d made the right choice. She hadn’t intended to do much in the way of accessorizing; just a pair of white gloves and her fan, her hair done up in such a way to both frame and soften her pointed ears. But when Horatio presented her with a ruby necklace the night before they departed for London, she was delighted to add it to the ensemble. He just tucked her hair behind her ear and kissed her cheek when she threw her arms around him. “I merely thought it suited you. Variable in different lights but always a force to be reckoned with.” She made a swatting gesture at him and returned to her packing.

They would be staying with the Martins, having no lodgings in London. Both Amelia and Horatio had been hesitant to ask, feeling it would be rude to stay with someone who hadn’t been invited to the ball, only to discover that they had, in fact, been invited. Héloïse mentioned that Charles had known the Kennedys for quite some time, though they had been a bit surprised that the invitation had come from the youngest son instead of the family proper. When she reached that part of the letter, Amelia had brandished the letter at Horatio and declared that Archie was worse than the scheming mothers in novels, always plotting to get things just so. Horatio mildly responded that Archie would probably be flattered.

Any lingering annoyance with Archie disappeared under the increasing anxiety as the date drew closer and closer. She ran through the dance steps in her head every half-hour, and practiced them to the best of her ability when she was alone. She read the papers carefully and pumped Héloïse for the latest gossip, wanting to be well-informed should she get drawn into conversation. She snapped her fan open and closed so many times she was afraid she might break it. Héloïse reassured her again and again that things would be much easier than expected, but Amelia couldn’t bring herself to believe it.

At Seven o’clock on the appointed day, Amelia dressed carefully, pinching and tugging at the fabric until she felt it sat just right. She donned the necklace, glad to see the red stones set off so well by the blue cloth. Then she stared into the mirror for a few minutes, looking her reflection squarely in the eyes. “Keep yourself focused,” she said firmly, “This is no different than maneuvering a ship through a narrow inlet. It’s all about doing the right thing at the right time.”

Pushing herself up from the vanity, she put on a smile and swept downstairs to join the rest of the party. Héloïse exclaimed over the dress, and both Horatio and Charles gave her deep bows as she came down the stairs. She nodded at them both before taking Horatio’s arm. He gave her an encouraging nod, and she inclined her head in turn, afraid her voice would waver if she opened her mouth. Better to keep silent until they were formally introduced.

Amelia had, of course, been to Archie’s home before, and it gave her a slight bit of comfort to see that the exterior hadn’t changed. It was even more comforting when, upon entering, Archie spotted her from across the room and broke into a wide smile. She tightened  her grip on Horatio’s arm and waited for the first challenge; the announcement of their arrival.

“Lord and Lady Horatio Hornblower!” the footman called, and all eyes were upon them. Amelia drew herself up straight and lifted her head, focusing her eyes on the far wall. But she could still hear the murmurs rippling through the crowd. They were too indistinct to make out what was being said, but she was willing to bet that there were as many comments about her ears as there were about Horatio’s status as a war hero. She and Horatio descended the stairs, entering the crowd, and her eyes now sought out Archie. He was standing at the far end of the room, along with his two brothers and his parents. She and Horatio waited until the next couple had been announced before they presented themselves. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both at last, Lord and Lady Kennedy,” Horatio said with a bow, “Your son is quite fond of you both.”

Lord Kennedy accepted the compliment with good grace, while Lady Kennedy glanced slightly incredulously at Archie. Then it was Amelia’s turn. She curtseyed once more as she said “I hope we find the two of you in good health and spirits.”

“We’re in excellent health,” Lord Kennedy said, bending over her hand, “I hope you are the same.”

As she nodded her assent, Lady Kennedy looked at her intently. Amelia had to force herself not to squirm. At last, her hostess said “It’s a pleasure to meet you properly, Lady Hornblower.”

Amelia knew she was blushing. Lady Kennedy shot Archie another look as she said “I must thank you for looking out for my son. I understand that it was partly at your suggestion that he reached the rank of commander.”

 “I thought it would be best for him.” Amelia demurred, unsure how much his mother knew about his condition.

“Nevertheless, he has made a good name and life for himself, thanks in part to you. You will always have my gratitude for that.”

Her words and expression weren’t overly friendly, but neither were they cold. She might not ever consider Amelia a friend, but they could be sociable acquaintances. It was more than Amelia had hoped for, and she gave another curtsey before moving aside for the next guests. She exhaled slowly, and Horatio pressed her hand. “Well done,” he murmured, “I believe you have another ally in society.”

“We’ll see what happens after this ball,” Amelia replied, spotting the refreshment table, “But right now, I’ll focus on getting something to drink.”

She and Horatio were cozily ensconced in a corner, sipping some sort of fruit drink, when Archie approached them with a smile. “It’s lovely to see you both,” he said, leaning against the wall, “And goodness, that dress suits you, Amelia. I think you were made to wear these sorts of gowns.”

“Thank you, Archie,” she said, before lowering her voice, “Be honest with me. Do your parents approve?”

“I think they’re not quite sure _what_ to make of you, especially since they know about your career. But you did nothing to offend, and Mama _is_ grateful for what you did. I believe they like you well enough.”

Amelia shrugged and took another sip of her drink. “It will do.”

“Lady Hornblower!” someone called, and Amelia turned round to see Héloïse approaching, a broad smile on her face. “There you are! You must come along with me, some friends of mine are very eager to meet you.”

Amelia shot a panicked look at the men. Archie gave her an encouraging smile, and Horatio gave her a look which clearly said _I’ll be nearby_. Doing her best to compose herself, she gave Héloïse a faint smile. “I’d be delighted.”

Héloïse linked arms with her and led her to a little circle of women, all of which were looking at her with wide eyes. Amelia took the chair she was offered and looked around at them, glass held to her lips to keep her from giving a false smile. “Ladies, meet Amelia Hornblower,” Héloïse said, taking her own seat, “Amelia, I’d like you to meet…”

The names blended together in Amelia’s head, but she gamely nodded her head at every new name. She’d expected an awkward silence once the introductions were complete, but one of the younger ladies (Miss Winter, was it?) immediately leaned forward and said, in a low but excited voice, “Is it true that you once took on a pirate ship twice your size and had to fight the captain to the death?”

Amelia set down her glass at once and stared at Héloïse. Héloïse just smiled. “I might have mentioned your wartime activities to some of my friends,” she said almost casually, “I hadn’t realized just how far the rumors had spread, though.”

Amelia turned back to Miss Winter, feeling the old pride racing through her veins. “I’m afraid that is a gross exaggeration, Miss Winter. I never fought any pirates. But there were quite a few pitched battles. That is, if you’re interested.”

All the women leaned forward as one. Looking around, Amelia realized that they were all younger ladies, barely out or perhaps newly married. Women who weren’t as set in their ways, in other words. Oh, Héloïse had known _exactly_ what she was doing. Amelia gave her friend another sideways glance before she began her story. She was going to have to find some way to show her gratitude. A simple note and gift didn’t seem anywhere near enough.

She told her stories, answering questions and toning down the violence as best as she was able. Occasionally, a passerby would hear the content of the discussion and make a noise of disapproval, but one look at the excitement on the faces of the young ladies was enough to reassure Amelia that she was doing the right thing. Her anxiety hadn’t vanished, but she was able to relax for the first time all evening.

But it all came rushing back when she heard the sound of the violins tuning up. She paused mid-story, but none of her audience seemed to notice; they too had heard the sound and were sitting up in excitement. Amelia folded her hands and waited, feeling very much like she was up for auction. She looked around for Horatio, but couldn’t pick him out of the mass of people.

One by one, gentlemen came up to her companions and asked them to dance. Amelia saw a few of them glance in her direction curiously, but they all moved on or asked another lady. Her heart sank; this was _exactly_ what she had dreaded.

“Pardon me, Captain,” Archie’s voice said, causing her to jump, “I was wondering if I could trouble you for the first dance?”

She looked over at him, realizing that his hand was already extended. Putting her hand in his at once, she allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. “Thank you,” she murmured quietly, “For a moment I thought…”

“It’s nothing,” Archie said, before they broke apart, “The Kennedy family _has_ to be there for the opening dance, after all. One benefit of that means I get to pick my partner.”

Knowing she was with someone who wouldn’t judge her dance steps, Amelia was more relaxed than she’d ever been during a practice session. Even she could tell that her movements were more natural, that each pass and turn felt organic instead of forced. Her expression remained pleasantly neutral for most of the dance, except for when she passed close to Archie, when she gave him a smile of gratitude. By focusing on the steps and on Archie’s mischievous expression, she almost forgot about the people surrounding her.

At the final notes from the strings, Archie turned and gave her a deep bow. Amelia curtseyed and accepted his arm to lead her back to her seat. “Hopefully that will get some of the guests more interested,” he commented, “I’m quite glad we decided against dance cards; it feels much more natural to ask at the time.”

“When are you announcing the waltz?” Amelia asked as she sat down once more.

“Around eleven. We’ve got a few reels to make our way through first in an attempt to get the guests in the right frame of mind.” He bent over her hand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll get us both some drinks. It’s best for me to sit this next one out, I think.” Amelia noticed for the first time how breathless he sounded and quickly agreed.

Amelia didn’t mind sitting out the next two dances. Archie provided her with company and conversation, and Horatio rematerialized to join in, although it was clear that the music was grating on him. From time to time one of the young ladies would stop by to talk, though it wasn’t entirely clear if their interest was in her or in Archie. Archie was certainly doing his best to encourage them to come back, which made Horatio shake his head slightly, a smile playing around his lips.

Soon enough, though, Amelia felt the anxiety creeping back. She needed to have more of a presence on the floor than just one dance. And it would be unwise to have Archie as her only partner; tongues would wag for an entirely different reason. Snapping open her fan, she inclined her head to every gentleman who passed by, hoping that conveyed her willingness to dance. Once again, a few men glanced in her direction, but none approached her. Her free hand curled into a fist, and she hoped her desperation didn’t show in her eyes.

She’d forgotten about the other ally in the room. Just as Héloïse took a seat next to her, Charles bowed and extended his hand. “May I have the honor of the next reel, Lady Hornblower?”

Amelia took his hand at once. “I would be honored and delighted.” She looked back in time to see Horatio give her a nod before disappearing into the crowd, either to get another drink or to escape to the card room. Charles led her to the proper position and gave her a reassuring smile. She smiled back, hoping that anyone who saw it interpreted it as one of enjoyment.

Charles was a good partner. Flustered from the lack of invitations, Amelia stumbled once in the course of the reel, and he was there to cover for her and gently steer her back to the proper moves. “I do hope you’re finding the ball entertaining,” he said during one of the passes, “It isn’t really as bad as you feared, is it?”

Amelia had to think about that. No one had said anything disparaging to her, and she had been at least partially accepted by the younger women. But even with help from Archie and Charles, there was still her lack of dance partners to remind her of why she had feared her post-Navy life. At the next pass, she answered as honestly as she dared. “It isn’t quite what I expected. Perhaps I will be able to face the next Society event with less trepidation.” Charles gave her a satisfied smile before they parted once more.

 At the end of the dance, Charles was just leading Amelia back to her seat when Lord Kennedy stepped in front of the musicians and clapped his hands for quiet. “Ladies and Gentleman!” he called out, “At the request of my sons, I have decided that we will try a new dance that has been gaining popularity in other countries and is starting to make its way here. It is called the waltz.”

The crowd started murmuring amongst itself. Amelia glanced around, and noted that while some looked scandalized, more than a few men and women seemed intrigued by the idea. Perhaps the dance would catch on here after all. Lord Kennedy continued “Those who are interested, choose your partner and come to the middle of the floor. After three minutes, the dance will begin.”

Charles smiled as he bowed to Amelia once more. “Forgive me, my lady, but there is only one man who is allowed to waltz with my wife. I’d best track her down.”

Amelia scanned the crowd once more for Archie, and spotted him talking to one of the young ladies. Based on her expression, it seemed likely that he had found himself a partner. Amelia closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. Was there even any point in standing up to show her interest? If the men weren’t interested in dancing with her for the appropriate dances, what was the chance that they’d want to be seen dancing an “improper” dance with her? She hated to let Archie down, but what other option did she have? Ask one of the men? Ha!

Then she became aware of someone standing in front of her. She heard the scrape of a shoe, heard cloth shifting as a body moved. And then came the words she’d never dreamed of hearing.

 “May I have this dance, Amelia?”

Her eyes shot open to make sure it wasn’t all in her head. No, she hadn’t gone mad; Horatio was standing there, hand outstretched, giving her the smile he normally reserved for their private moments. Amelia gaped at him in undisguised shock. “You…but…”

“They’ll be starting the music in a minute,” Horatio said calmly, “You had best make up your mind.”

She stood up quickly and placed her hand into his. “What in the name of God is going on?” she demanded in a whisper as they moved towards the dance space.

“I may have no ear for music, but I can follow rhythms just fine,” Horatio answered, one hand already sliding around her waist, “I had Archie teach me the basics the evening after I saw you dancing.”

“But _why_?”

He reached out and brushed a strand of her hair. “Because I promised that I wouldn’t leave you to the mercies of the crowd at your first ball. I will always be a man of my word.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. He wiped at them with a knuckle, giving her another smile. “Let’s be decadent.” he murmured. She took a shaky breath and smiled back, placing one hand upon his shoulder and intertwining her other hand with his. The music started up, and she had just enough time to see Archie guiding his partner, demonstrating the waltz both to her and to the assembled couples, before long fingers pressed against her back and she felt herself moving.

She knew they weren’t perfect. Their feet collided with each other more than once, and Horatio had a look in his eye that told her he was focused on counting, remembering when to turn and when to step. But she didn’t care. They were so close that her skirts brushed against his leg with every turn, and his fingers guided her, gently but firmly, each touch feeling like a caress. Occasionally, he caught her gaze, and smiled at her, his eyes warm. It was all she could do to keep from kissing him right then and there.

The dance must have lasted for less than five minutes. As the final notes sounded, Horatio made to separate from her, but she linked her arm through his and smiled. “I believe I’ve had enough dancing for tonight. Are they playing cards somewhere? I’d love to join in a good game of whist.”

***

“You did well tonight,” Horatio told her, carefully easing her out of the dress, “By the end, I don’t think anyone was giving your ears a second glance.”

“I highly doubt that,” Amelia answered, before softening her tone, “But it went better than I ever could have expected. I just wish I felt more confident with my dancing.”

“I believe the various dukes and earls need a little more time to grow accustomed to your presence before they realize that you are a worthy partner,” Horatio said, hands lingering on her waist for a moment before moving upwards to undo her corset, “Perhaps we should decline events where there will be dancing, and focus our attention instead on card parties and dinners. That way, they’ll see you at your best.”

“Sitting around in bright gowns and good posture?”

 “Capturing the conversation with your wit and your bite,” he corrected, trailing a finger down her back, “And as long as they aren’t the subject of your ire, I believe they’ll grow to like you very much.”

Amelia arched into the touch. “We’ll see. I don’t believe I’m up for hosting any such gathering myself.”

“Neither am I,” Horatio murmured into her ear, allowing the corset to fall away from her, “I’d rather not share you with the crowds at this point in time.”

Amelia turned to face him and kissed him like she’d wanted to kiss him ever since the waltz started. His hand came up to her ear, rubbing and tugging in just the right ways. With no hesitation, she maneuvered him around and pushed him onto the bed. She could see now why others might be scandalized by the waltz, but frankly, she rather liked the end results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In between this fic and the next one, there's another fic, entitled "Notes From Last Night" and inspired by the website Texts From Last Night, that's utterly ridiculous and definitely NSFW. However, it contains a lot of pictures and color coding, and as Ao3 isn't designed for that sort of thing yet, I think it's safer if I just link to it. You can find it here if you're interested: http://following-sea.livejournal.com/383208.html.


	12. Novelty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, there is a crack story between "Guiding Steps" and this one, containing numerous pictures and a lot of material from the website Texts From Last Night. If you're interested, you can find it here: http://following-sea.livejournal.com/383208.html (warning; definitely NSFW)
> 
> As for this story, it was inspired by a sofa that actually exists and is called, even more bizarrely, the Hornblower Sofa. A response of some sort had to be made. That being said, this story is probably NSFW.

Archie Kennedy was many things, but few could deny that he was a good host. Once the war was over and life returned to normal, he struck out on his own and purchased his own place in London. It wasn’t as elaborate as his parents house, and certainly not as lavish as other bachelor homes, but it was comfortable and well-stocked for guests. And since he was such a personable man, he extended quite a few invitations to his friends.

Hornblower was always glad to accept that invitation. Archie knew how to make him feel at his ease, even if something was troubling his mind. He was good for Amelia too, reminding her of the old days while more than willing to provide advice about society life. A visit to Archie’s house was a break from the world, and both of them were grateful for the respite.

If there was anything wrong with Archie’s home, it was his…unusual taste in furniture. His sitting room, where he received guests, had matching furniture, as did the dining room. All the rest of the rooms, however, had whatever sort of furniture he could dream up. The wood paneling of the guest bed was carved with mermaids and other nautical elements, while Archie’s own bed was made up of elaborate twists and decorative flourishes. It all looked perfectly decent, but seeing such disparate elements in the various rooms made ones head spin.

On one of their visits, after the greetings, Archie said excitedly, “I’ve acquired a new settee for the guest room. Come up and have a look at it.”

Amelia and Hornblower exchanged glances. Then Amelia smiled and turned back to Archie. “Lead the way then.”

Hornblower kept two steps behind Archie, wanting to conceal whatever his reaction might be. He was grateful for this foresight when Archie threw open the door and gestured dramatically to the settee leaning against the wall. On the one hand, it looked comfortable and would easily seat two people. But on the other…it was silver. _Bright_ silver. It had been angled in such a way to catch the light from the window, and Hornblower suspected the effect was blinding in the early afternoon. It also included two large black tassels that were probably there for decoration. Hornblower bit his lip and tried to keep his expression neutral.

Amelia had no such qualms. “It’s…amazing, Kennedy,” she said, amusement writ all across her face, “Wherever did you acquire it?”

“The man I went to had made it purely to see if he could. I was taken with it immediately, and I thought my guests might appreciate it.”

“Some of us, perhaps,” Amelia said, stepping into the room to get a better look, “I’m not so sure your parents would approve.”

“Well, it’s highly unlikely they’ll ever stay the night here,” Archie answered, “So at worst I’d get a disapproving glance.”

Hornblower followed his wife into the room. “I’m sure it will be just fine, Archie. Give us a few minutes to recover from the journey and we’ll join you downstairs.”

Archie nodded and closed the door behind him. Amelia waited until his footsteps had receded before she started laughing. “I shouldn’t laugh,” she murmured, “It’s not a bad piece, not really. But it just…fits him, doesn’t it?”

Hornblower chuckled and sat down on the bed, removing his boots. “It does. I suppose we should have seen this coming, though; he had his own ideas on how to decorate his cabin, didn’t he?”

“And he thought _I_ had a habit of redecorating,” Amelia laughed, “I will give him this, though, he never does anything to excess.”

Hornblower stretched out on the bed. “True enough. It’s probably best not to keep him waiting for too long. How long do you think you’ll need to freshen up?”

“Not long. I want to run a comb through my hair and splash some water on my face.” True to her word, they left the room after five minutes, without giving the sofa a second thought.

It wasn’t until that evening that the _other_ interesting property of the settee revealed itself. The three of them had been engrossed in cards and conversation until mid-evening, and while Hornblower and Amelia were tired, they weren’t quite ready for bed. They both decided to do a little reading. Hornblower stretched out on the bed once more, while Amelia, without really thinking about it, approached the couch and flopped down unceremoniously on it. Hornblower was just turning a page when he heard Amelia’s voice, puzzled. “What the…”

“What is it?” Hornblower asked, glancing over the top of his book. Amelia was sitting up on the sofa, hands resting on either side. “The couch moved.”

“Moved?”

 “As I fell onto it, I felt it shift over to the right. And I’m sure it wasn’t my imagination.” She got off the sofa and knelt down, looking at the base. Then she burst out laughing. “What now?” Hornblower asked, closing the book; this was clearly much more interesting.

“It has wheels, Horatio. The damn thing was built to move around.”

Hornblower came over to her side, sure she wasn’t lying but unable to fully believe it. Amelia must have known this, because she put her hand on the side of the couch and pushed. Sure enough, it moved an inch to the right. “I’m not sure if the builder is a genius or a madman,” she said, running her hand over the cushion, “What made him think this was a good idea?”

“Archie did say he’d built it as a sort of experiment,” Hornblower answered, “I’m not sure how useful it will be for sitting, though, if it rolls around with too much movement.”

Amelia, who had been rising to her feet, suddenly froze and looked over at him. “Horatio, you’re brilliant,” she said, eyes glinting playfully, “Absolutely brilliant.”

Hornblower wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He settled for a questioning tilt of the head. Amelia put her hands on one end of the sofa. “Come on, help me move this to the middle of the room.”

“Why…”

“I’ll explain in a minute. Give me a hand.” Knowing better than to argue, Hornblower helped heave the couch to the center of the room. “Now what?” he asked.

She gave a wicked little grin. “Get out of those clothes.”

Hornblower suddenly knew _exactly_ what she was planning. “I’m not sure that’s wise…”

“Well, I can’t sit on the thing, and it seems a shame to not use it. Archie’s probably expecting us to break it in anyway.”

“Like _this_?”

“We’ll be careful not to damage it,” Amelia said, already undoing the buttons of her shirt, “And all we need to say is that it makes for an interesting sitting experience.”

Hornblower was still hesitant about the whole thing. “Oh, come on, Horatio,” Amelia cajoled, coming up to him and pressing close, allowing him to feel her curves, “I don’t think we’ll ever get an opportunity like this again. No one ever has to know. Besides, it can’t be much worse than trying to maintain position during a driving rainstorm, can it?”

Being in close proximity to her when she was like this drove most rational thought out of his head. “What…exactly did you have in mind?” he said as he started to remove his own shirt.

“Oh, nothing too strenuous,” Amelia assured him, stripping off her shirt and turning to help divest Hornblower of his clothes, “There’ll just be a bit of rolling about, that’s all.”

“Aren’t you afraid we might fall off?” Hornblower asked, glancing at the wheels and the smoothness of the floor. Based on how it reaction to Amelia’s slight movement, he dreaded to think what a hard shove might do.

Amelia grabbed onto one of the tassels. “That’s what _these_ are for, obviously. I’d wondered what their purpose was.”

Hornblower removed the last of his clothes and stood awkwardly by the sofa, waiting to see what Amelia had planned. She was in the middle of removing her boots, and gestured over to the couch. “Just splay yourself on that, and wrap your arm around a tassel. Keep a tight grip; I’m not entirely sure exactly what’s going to happen.”

That didn’t exactly fill him with confidence. Nevertheless, he did as he was told. He watched Amelia bend over to remove her trousers, admiring the view. Amelia threw a glance over her shoulder. “Cheeky sod.”

And then, without warning, she straightened up and launched herself at him, landing atop him and causing the couch to skid a good foot backwards. Hornblower clenched the tassel for dear life, only releasing it when he was sure they were no longer moving. The landing hadn’t exactly hurt, but it had left him breathless. The risks of this, he felt, far outweighed the benefits.

He glanced up at Amelia to see what she thought, only to stare, transfixed. Amelia had her head tilted back in exhilaration, her expression one of pure delight. When she looked down at him, her eyes were sparkling with playfulness and promise. “Marvelous,” she said, running her hand up Hornblower’s chest. “Now, let’s see, where to go from here…”

There was a pause for a moment while she repositioned herself, one leg dangling over the edge. Just as Hornblower gave his first pleasant gasp, she pushed slightly, causing the settee to spin in a lazy circle. It was an odd sensation, though not unpleasant. Really, it was almost as if they were making love in a hammock. Amelia grinned and kissed him. “Not so bad, is it?”

“No,” Hornblower agreed, “Not all that bad.”

Now that they were properly intertwined, Amelia was a lot more careful. She inched the couch forward or sideways at opportune moments, but made sure not to overdo it. The squeaks of the wheels and the rustle of the fabric were all that could be heard, something faint and oddly soothing. At least until Hornblower went “over the edge” and literally pulled Amelia down with him, both of them tumbling off the sofa. “Ah, well, it was worth trying once,” Amelia said, lifting herself up gingerly off the floor, “Help me push this back; we don’t want it to cause any more damage.”

The next morning, both of them had dark bruises on their sides, though neither of them much minded the faint ache. Archie, meanwhile, offered tea and discussed what they would do during their visit. It was only as they were preparing to go riding that he said “Perhaps I should return to Mr. Glass and ask if there is any way to steady the wheels. Or at least find a way to silence them.”

Amelia blushed. Archie gave a wicked grin. Hornblower merely cleared his throat and made his way to the stables.


	13. Love Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Valentine's day following_sea challenge, entitled "The Way to a Man's Heart".

Hornblower was elbow-deep in Admiralty paperwork when Brown knocked on his door. “Begging your pardon, sir, but Lady Hornblower wishes to inform you that dinner is ready.”

“Thank you, Brown. Tell her I’ll be down presently.”

“She was most insistent that you come down as soon as possible, sir. I believe her exact words were ‘Bring him down here by his ears if necessary, Brown, because for once in his life I expect him to be punctual to dinner.’”

Hornblower smiled and set down his pen. “Oh, very well, then. I suppose I could do with an extended break, anyway.” Rising to his feet, he followed Brown downstairs.

As they approached the dining room, he caught the scent of roses and quirked an eyebrow. “What sort of meal do you have planned, exact…”

The words died away as he took in the scene. Amelia, clad in her black silk gown, was bent over the table, carefully arranging a vase of flowers. As for the table itself, it was practically heaped with food. A tureen of soup, a platter of beef, a dish of fresh fruit, and what appeared to be a small cake. It wasn’t exactly elaborate—he’d seen more food at Admiralty gatherings—but it was certainly more trouble than the cook usually went to.

As he stood there, blinking in surprise, Amelia straightened up and turned to face him with a warm smile. “Good, Brown managed to get you down here without any undue violence. Shall we sit down?”

“Amelia, what _is_ all this?” Hornblower said, even as he obligingly took a seat, “We don’t usually require this much food.”

“Perhaps not,” she acknowledged, as Brown started pouring wine, “But I thought we could indulge ourselves tonight, considering the date.”

Date? Hornblower quickly cast his mind back. No, there were no significant events in his and Amelia’s relationship during this time. It was just an ordinary day, February 14th…oh.

“Valentine’s Day?” he said, slightly incredulous, “We’ve never celebrated it before. Even after the war was over, you said it was a day meant for young courtships, not an established marriage.”

“And it’s still true, mostly, But occasionally, I’m struck by the mood to be romantic. Valentine’s Day just happened to provide the perfect excuse.”

“So you arranged all this, then, did you?”

“I tried my best. Even helped cook prepare some of the dishes the way you liked them, at least until she chased me out of the kitchen for messing in her affairs.”

Hornblower felt a pang of guilt. “All of this for my benefit, and I have nothing to offer in return.”

She shook her head with a little smile. “I’m not expecting anything, Horatio. Your company will be enough.” A familiar spark came into her eye. “Especially if you’re willing to tear yourself away from your papers for another hour after dinner. My garden has been tended to and is ready to be harvested.”

Hornblower gave her an answering grin. “I believe my work can wait, in that case.”

***

The dinner was magnificent, everything perfectly cooked and seasoned, with just enough portions to leave both of them comfortably full, and a little extra left behind for Brown and the cook. As he set down his fork for the last time, he reached over and squeezed Amelia’s hand. “Thank you for dinner. And happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she repeated, coming round the table to stand beside him. “Horatio…” she said, rubbing a hand over his shoulder, “I have one more gift for you.”

“You’ve done more than enough,” he protested, “If anything, I need to make it up to you.”

She shook her head. “This one’s my pleasure, Horatio. Besides, it’s only now that I know for sure.”

“Know what?”

She took his hand and started playing with it. “I said that my garden was ready for harvesting. But to put it another way, it’s in the process of bearing fruit.”

Hornblower’s mouth dropped open. “You…are you saying you’re…” he slid his hand out of hers and lightly touched her stomach.

Her eyes were absolutely glowing. “I am. Two months on.”

After taking another moment to fully process it, Hornblower made a rather undignified noise and pulled Amelia into his lap. “When?”

“Sometime in September, I believe. Am I to presume you’re pleased?”

Instead of answering, Hornblower kissed her. Then he lifted her up and swept her out of the dining room. The paperwork could hang; he was spending what little was left of Valentine’s Day showing his wife how much he appreciated her.


	14. Cure-All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by a (fake) sign someone on following_sea saw advertising a medicine with an interesting name and even more interesting properties. Based on this story, I think you can guess what they are...

Amelia and Horatio were browsing the local marketplace on a warm spring afternoon when they came across a booth selling a wide variety of medicines “guaranteed to cure any ailment.” Amelia rolled her eyes and was about to pass it by when she heard Horatio give a gasp before clearing his throat in that way of his. Turning back to look, she saw him staring at a collection of bottles, a small paper declaring them to be “Hornblower Bitters.” She covered her mouth to hide her laughter while Horatio demanded to know why they had that name, and especially why the medicine had such ridiculous claims.

“Well, sir, there’s a great Admiral in the Royal Navy who did a lot to help the King during the war. I thought people would want the medicine more if it had such heroic connotations.”

Amelia saw a bit of heat rising to Horatio’s face, and decided not to spoil it for the merchant. Besides, she’d be chuckling about this for weeks. “I’ll take one, please.” she said, dropping coins into the merchant’s hand while Horatio spluttered behind her. She examined the small green bottle curiously, smirking once again as she read the name emblazoned on the label. “Come along, Horatio, I want to try this out.”

She linked arms with him and dragged him down the street before he could say anything. Once they were a safe distance away, Horatio finally regained his voice. “He can’t be allowed to do that, surely? Use my name without permission?”

“I’m not up on my laws, I’m afraid,” Amelia said, “I can recite the Articles of War from memory, but not the various Parliamentary decrees. So I couldn’t say. But really, how is it any different from people naming their children or their new flower after you?”

“He’s associating me with outrageous medical claims! If it doesn’t work, they’ll think he’s a fraud, and thus think less of me as well.”

“With no offense meant, my dear,” Amelia said as their house came into view, “I doubt most people are going to ask where the name came from, and the people most likely to be buying it are young enough that they won’t recognize your name on sight. After all, that man was a contemporary of ours, and he apparently wasn’t aware that his “great Admiral” had married someone with cat ears, otherwise I think he would have been a little more afraid of us. Honestly, you’d think he’d model a medicine after me; ‘guaranteed to bring all your body parts to a respectable size’.”

Horatio was mollified, but only just. “And why on earth did you _buy_ one?”

“Curiosity, of course. What does it taste like, and can it _really_ do all that it claims?”

“Remove blemishes, perhaps,” Horatio muttered, “But that other claim…honestly!”

Amelia smirked at him and called for Brown. “A cup of tea for me and the strongest coffee you have for Lord Hornblower. I do believe he needs it.”

They sat down in the drawing room, Horatio drumming his fingers on his knee and grumbling to himself, Amelia turning the bottle in her hands and shaking her head in amusement. When the drinks arrived, Amelia immediately uncorked the bottle and gave it an experimental sniff. “Hmm…very salty scent, unsurprisingly. You also seem to be made of something with a bit of spice. Perhaps he added a bit of coffee in there.”

Horatio shot her a look. She calmly poured a bit into her tea and stirred it in with the milk. Then she took a small sip. “Well?” Horatio demanded, curiosity getting the better of him.

She considered. “It doesn’t taste too bad. I’m reminded of oranges, oddly enough. It certainly won’t do you any harm to ingest it. His claims are patently ridiculous, of course, but at least his medicine won’t kill you.”

Horatio picked up his coffee. “What made him think that was a good idea? Surely he knows it’s impossible to ‘restore’ virginity.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Amelia said mildly, “You’re the perfect person to give it back. After all, you took mine.”

Horatio spilled coffee on his jacket. Amelia laughed and took another sip of tea.


	15. Legacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired both by a challenge over at following_sea, dealing with the theme of shifting sands, and by a prompt over at disney_kink that wanted a relationship between Captain Amelia and Alice from the live action Alice in Wonderland movies (though I didn't really fulfill the prompt, so I won't quote it here like I normally do). After some thinking, I thought this was fitting.

As Alice Kingsleigh stepped off the _Wonder’s_ gangplank, the first thing that caught her eye was the young man standing just outside the throng of people. It wasn’t his physical distance that got her attention, it was the look he was giving her. Ordinarily, people (especially men) would look at her askance when they saw her in her Captain’s uniform, their expressions ranging from surprise to disgust. She supposed she couldn’t blame them, in a way—they were still caught up in matters of “what’s _done_ ” rather than “what’s _best_ ”—but that didn’t mean she enjoyed the scrutiny. This man, however, had an expression of approval on his face. Given that she currently couldn’t see her mother or Lord Ascot nearby, Alice gave some orders to the workmen to unload the cargo, then made her way over to the man. “May I help you, sir?”

The man’s smile grew a little wider. “Not exactly. But the explanation can wait till we’ve made our introductions.” He held out his hand. “William Kennedy Hornblower.”

“Alice Kingsleigh.” Alice replied, shaking his hand. Just as she started to release her grip, the last name registered, and she stared at the man in amazement. “‘Hornblower?’ As in Rear-Admiral Hornblower?”

Young Hornblower’s eyes twinkled slightly. “Ah, so you know of my father.”

“Of course I do!” Alice said almost indignantly, “It’s best to stay acquainted with Naval matters, to learn which sea passages are safe to take. And Admiral Hornblower has been particularly adept at keeping the waters safe.”

“I’m flattered to hear him given such praise, though I’m not sure he would share the sentiment,” young Hornblower said, “But he’s not exactly the reason I’m here.”

“Oh? Then why _are_ you here?”

“You’ve obviously heard of my father. But my more pressing question is, have you heard of my mother?”

Alice cast her mind back, trying to remember the naval gazettes she’d read or any of the society papers she’d been forced to leaf through before starting work for the trading company. “I’m sorry, I can’t say I have.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s something that people do their damndest not to bandy about. All that’s important is that my mother recently became aware of your exploits, and she expressed a desire to meet you. Do you think you can find the time to come round to our rooms in London while you’re in port?”

Now even more puzzled (but equally as curious), Alice nodded. “I believe so. I need to settle the _Wonder’s_ affairs and move my effects to my home, but I should be able to manage at least a brief visit.”

“Very good,” young Hornblower said, removing a card from his coat and giving it to her, “Send word when you’ll be able to visit, and we’ll make sure to have tea prepared.”

Alice glanced at the card (it bore an address, but the names given were merely “Lord and Lady Hornblower”) before tucking it into her pocket. “Thank you, Mr. Hornblower. I will try to come as soon as I can. You have successfully piqued my interest.”

He tipped his hat at her. “I’m glad to hear it. I hope to see you in the near future.”

With that, he stepped away and began to make his way down the dock. Alice watched him go for a few seconds, then shook her head and turned her attention back to her ship. Intriguing as this situation was, she had duties to attend to first.  
***

That evening, Alice sent a note to the Hornblowers’ lodgings, asking if she could come for tea the next afternoon. A reply came an hour later, written in a surprisingly informal hand, saying that she would be expected at three, and that “it would also be of great pleasure to me if you would wear your uniform, rather than any formal dress”. The note was signed “Amelia Hornblower”. So at least Alice now had a name.

Unfortunately, that name was all Alice had. She had talked to both Lord Ascot and her mother and dug through all the papers she could find, but she hadn’t been able to turn up much about Lady Hornblower. She had found one or two mentions of her attending gatherings or holding salons, but it was as if the papers didn’t want to talk about her. That just made Alice even more curious. If Admiral Hornblower had married the woman, she had to at least be respectable. So why the silence? Alice prepared for bed and tried to sleep, reassuring herself that she would get answers soon.

The next afternoon, Alice (dressed in her uniform as requested) took a carriage to the address on the card. The carriage stopped in front of a handsome building, and Alice looked it over intently as the carriage drove away, but the façade gave no answers to her questions. Taking a deep breath and smoothing her coat, she stepped up to the door and knocked. A servant answered the door, took one look at her, and without batting an eye, said “Ah, you’ll be Captain Kingsleigh. Lord and Lady Hornblower are waiting for you in the parlor. If you’ll just come with me…”

Alice eagerly followed the man, wanting to learn what was going on as soon as possible. After going up a flight of stairs, the man stopped at a door, knocked, and after receiving a reply that Alice couldn’t quite hear, pushed the door open. “Captain Alice Kingsleigh to see you, my lady.”

Alice immediately stepped into the room and bowed. “It’s a pleasure to make your ac…”

Her voice died away as she lifted her head and finally got a good look at her hosts. Admiral Hornblower was about what she expected—a dignified, serious looking gentleman with his remaining hair carefully maintained and his posture as straight as age would allow. But then Lady Hornblower stepped into Alice’s line of sight, and everything suddenly became simultaneously clear and even more confusing.

For a start, Lady Hornblower was wearing a naval uniform of her own. The design was outdated, bearing epaulettes instead of stripes, and yet it was perfectly tailored. Then Alice looked up into Lady Hornblower’s face, and her eyes widened when she saw the pointed ears, the tan skin a stark contrast against the white hair. Despite all she had seen in Underland, Alice wasn’t sure what to make of this. What on earth…

Lady Hornblower must have seen the shock on Alice’s face, because she gave a wry smile as she dipped into a bow of her own. “The pleasure is all mine, Captain. Please, sit down, and I’ll do my best to answer the questions I know you have.”

Alice took the nearest seat, trying her best not to stare. “Forgive me,” she said, “I know I’m being rude.”

Lady Hornblower waved her hand. “It happens everytime we meet someone new. I’ve learned to stop being put out by it. As long as you’re willing to listen to what I have to say, I don’t hold it against you.”

“Of…of course.” Alice said, glancing over at Admiral Hornblower. He was looking her over intently, with that judgmental expression Alice was familiar with, except for once it didn’t seem to be related to what she wearing. If anything, it seemed to be warning her to be on her best behavior. A little unnerved, Alice swallowed and turned her gaze back to Lady Hornblower. “If I may, Lady Hornblower…where is Mr. Hornblower?” Perhaps having a friendlier face would make this easier for her.

“William had his own business to attend to,” Lady Hornblower said, adjusting her uniform as she sat down, “Besides, I wished this tea to be between Naval officers only.”

Alice’s eyes flicked down to Lady Hornblower’s outfit. “Naval…”

“Yes, Captain,” Lady Hornblower said, touching the tips of her fingers together and fixing Alice with a hard stare, “In my prime, I was Captain Amelia Drake, in command of _HMS Legacy_. And if I may say so, I was the best privateer hunter the Royal Navy had.”

Alice couldn’t stop her mouth from dropping open. Her mind whirled as she tried to come up with an appropriate response. Demanding to know how that was possible, given her own hardships in becoming a Captain, seemed rude. Admitting she’d never heard of either a Captain Drake or the _Legacy_ didn’t seem like the wisest course of action either. But she felt like she needed to say _something_.

Fortunately, Admiral Hornblower finally spoke. “I’m sure this is an unexpected revelation to you. It is to many people. The question is, will that negatively affect your opinion of my wife?”

“N-no!” Alice responded, “How could it? My own life hasn’t exactly been conventional either, so who am I to pass judgment?”

Immediately, the atmosphere in the room changed. Admiral Hornblower’s posture didn’t change, but his expression softened into something a lot more inviting. Looking back at Lady Hornblower, Alice saw that she was smiling a broad smile, eyes twinkling. “I told you so, Horatio.” she said.

Admiral Hornblower just cleared his throat. Lady Hornblower turned her attention back to Alice. “That’s why I sent for you. As soon as I heard that you had managed to gain a Captaincy for yourself, I knew I had to meet you. If nothing else, I could get a taste of the old life from the stories you told. And perhaps, if you were receptive, I could offer you what little advice I had.”

“I would be honored,” Alice said, “Though I’d like to know how exactly you managed to attain the rank of Captain first. Even though I had the support of Lord Ascot, I still had to fight tooth and nail for my position. For you to achieve it in the Royal Navy…”

Lady Hornblower smiled grimly. “My struggle wasn’t quite the same as yours, as you might expect. But this is a story that should be told over refreshments.” On cue, their servant returned, pushing a tea tray. “Thank you, Brown,” Amelia said, giving the man a nod before starting to pass out the teacups, “Now then, I suppose I should begin with the part of my tale that needs the most explaining.”

With that, she launched into a story that had nearly as many twists and turns as Alice’s experiences in Underland. An unexplained malformation of her ears, family tragedy, an elaborate ruse that had her posing as a man, the inevitable discovery, a trial. Lady Hornblower was a good storyteller, her voice ringing with emotion, though Alice got the distinct impression that part of it was due to old wounds that had never fully healed. She listened attentively, her tea mostly forgotten, as Lady Hornblower described the Admiralty’s unorthodox decision allowing her to keep her position, at the cost of many privileges. “I often chafed against my shackles,” she said, her spoon clattering a little too hard against the sides of her teacup, “But I accepted them, given the circumstances. Besides, Lord knows where I would be now had the Admiralty not made the decisions they did. Certainly not here, with money, land, a title, and a fine family.”

“You would have managed,” Admiral Hornblower said, “You’re too strong to have let it break you.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, my dear, but back then, I wasn’t nearly as sure of myself. Being ousted from the Navy might very well have done irreparable harm.”

Admiral Hornblower had no response to that, though whether it was because he agreed or disagreed, Alice couldn’t say. Lady Hornblower turned her attention back to her story, relating how she had finally found her place chasing down privateers, and how it eventually led to her relationship with Admiral Hornblower, though they had both been captains at the time. She glossed over many of the details, claiming that it wasn’t important, but Alice could tell by the warmth in her voice and the soft glances she threw at Admiral Hornblower that it _was_ important, at least to Lady Hornblower.

The story came to an end at the same time the war did, Lady Hornblower following the orders laid out for her at her court-martial and resigning her position. “I’ve done my best to be a proper wife since then,” she said, though she said it with a wry smile, “Though I avoid Society gatherings if at all possible. I serve Admiral Hornblower better by providing him with a sympathetic ear as he tells of problems with his ship, or by making sure he has a tidy, welcoming home to come back to. Besides, that allows me an excuse to wear the clothes that suit me.”

She gestured to her uniform at that. “I do need to have new clothes made every few years to adapt to the ravages of age, but I don’t mind the cost or the odd looks. Fortunately, the older I get, the easier it is to dismiss my requests as eccentricities, and thus people are less likely to look at me askance.”

Alice nodded; she’d noticed a similar trend. Lady Hornblower refreshed Alice’s teacup and pushed over the cream and sugar pots. “But I’ve prattled on enough. While you now understand why I was compelled to see you for myself, I have specific reasons for inviting you here.”

Alice wasn’t surprised. “At your service, Lady Hornblower.”

“Oh, don’t,” Lady Hornblower said, “I have to hear that enough from servants and Society. My friends call me Amelia. Which is my first reason for calling you here. I…” her voice faltered for the first time, “I was rather hoping that you and I could become friends. I have old friends from the service, and there are a surprising number of ladies who can look past my ears and my history, but you…you’re the first woman I can really talk to candidly about Naval life and adventures. I’d like to take advantage of that.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Alice said, suddenly feeling a little taller and stronger, “And I’d certainly be grateful for any advice you can offer me. Though I’m not certain I’d be entirely comfortable calling you by your Christian name just yet.”

“I understand,” Lady Hornblower said, “In which case, I would much prefer it if you would call me Captain.”

“I can manage that, Captain.” Alice said, giving her a grin and a salute.

Lady—Captain Hornblower grinned back. “You can’t imagine how nice it is to hear that again. It might not seem like it now, but there will come a point when you’ll find it hard to respond to anything else.”

“I think I’m already reaching that point,” Alice admitted, “I bristle internally when anyone at a party refers to me as ‘Miss Kingsleigh’.”

Captain Hornblower laughed, and even though it rasped due to her age, Alice recognized the hearty note in it that was common among sailors. “Then you’re in for a long battle of fighting for the correct form of address. But if you’ve made it this far, that shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

Alice flushed slightly at the praise. Captain Hornblower got to her feet and made her way over to a nearby end table, where a small but ornate box was sitting. “I understand that your line of work will make it difficult for us to meet regularly,” she said, “But I would be content if we were able to meet up for an afternoon whenever you make your way back to England. The Admiral and I are either here in London or at our home in Smallbridge.”

“I’m sure I’ll be able to sneak away,” Alice assured her, “In fact, it might be just the excuse I need to get out of various stuffy parties. Conversation with you sounds much more appealing.”

Captain Hornblower picked up the box and returned to her seat. “I’m flattered, and more than willing to provide you with that excuse. Now then, onto my other reason for calling you here.”

She set the box on the table, resting her hand on top of it. “I take care of myself as best I can, but there is no denying that I’m old. While I have no intention of dying just yet, I have started to make plans for what happens after I am gone. Both Admiral Hornblower and I have had wills drawn up, making sure our children will be taken care of and that our friends will have something to remember us by. But the will mostly applies to our money and our estate. It’s a little harder to decide what to do with individual items.”

She looked over at Admiral Hornblower, who had been mostly silent throughout all this. “What do you think, Horatio?”

Admiral Hornblower looked Alice over again. Then he nodded. “I think she’s a perfect fit.”

Before Alice could ask what he meant, Captain Hornblower opened the box. Nestled in the satin interior was a wooden ball, rubbed smooth by time but fairly ordinary looking, given the box it rested in. “An heirloom of the Drake family,” Captain Hornblower explained, lifting it out of the box and rolling it around her hands, “Broken off a ship that fought the Spanish Armada. It was one of the few possessions I brought with me when I first went to sea. I always thought of it as a good luck talisman. Horatio—the Admiral—understood what it meant to me, but no one else seemed to appreciate it. Even my children see it only as something I care about, without fully realizing why. I do not wish for it to be thrown into the fire upon my death, or to be kept upon the mantelpiece as a memento mori. It was meant to be at sea, and if I can’t be there to accompany it, then it deserves to be with someone who will treat it with the same amount of care and respect.”

She held the ball out to Alice. “I bequeath it to you, Captain Kingsleigh. May it give you the same good fortune it gave me.”

Alice couldn’t repress a gasp. Reaching out, she picked up the ball and held it gingerly in her hand. It was light, weighing no more than a full cup and saucer, and rested perfectly against her palm and curved fingers. Her hand seemed to tingle the longer it sat there, as though the ball was giving off some sort of energy. She looked back at Captain Hornblower, who was watching her almost tentatively. Exhaling slowly, Alice rubbed the ball with her thumb before placing it in its case and closing the lid. “It will be safe with me,” she promised, “Shall I bring it round whenever I come to visit? I wouldn’t wish to take it from you before your time.”

Captain Hornblower’s eyes glittered, and Admiral Hornblower reached over and rested his hand on hers. Captain Hornblower took a few deep, shaky breaths, and then she nodded. “I would appreciate that. Thank you.”

“Thank _you_ ,” Alice said, “I wish I’d known about you before. It might have made gaining my own Captaincy that much easier. Perhaps I’ll make sure to make my own case more public, so I can smooth the way for other women like us.”

“If you need assistance, feel free to come to me,” Admiral Hornblower said, “I cannot change the rules on my own, but my name and position have enough clout that I can help things along a little.”

Alice nodded. “I will. Thank you. Both of you.”

The clock on the mantle chimed the hour. Captain Hornblower gave a faint start and glanced at it. “Four already? Now I’m certain I talked for too long. I hope I haven’t kept you from anything important, Captain Kingsleigh.”

“Nothing that can’t wait.” Alice assured her.

“Even so, I’m afraid we’ll have to cut this visit short,” Captain Hornblower said, getting to her feet once more, “I need to make dinner arrangements, and my son will be home any minute. But I’d be delighted if you’d call on us again.”

“I’ll be sure to,” Alice said, following her hostess’ example and standing up, picking up the chest as she did so, “Perhaps you can offer me advice about the best routes to take.”

“Excellent,” Captain Hornblower said, “Just let me know when you’re free, and I’ll be sure to set aside some time for you. Allow me to see you to the door.”

After shaking hands with Admiral Hornblower, Alice accompanied Captain Hornblower to the front door. When she held out her hand to make her goodbyes, the Captain surprised her by pulling her into a hug. Despite her age and her slender frame, the Captain’s grip was still strong. “Forgive an old woman’s eccentricities,” she murmured in Alice’s ear, “But knowing someone like you is out there gives me hope for the future.”

Alice smiled and returned the embrace. “There’s no need to apologize. I’m eccentric myself.”

Captain Hornblower released her and smiled warmly. “I know. Best of luck on your journeys, Captain Kingsleigh. I look forward to reading about your exploits.”

“I’ll be sure to write and tell you about them first-hand.” Alice answered, giving her an answering smile before stepping outside, where the Hornblower carriage was waiting to take her home. As the carriage set out, she carefully stroked the top of the case and wondered when it would be the right time to tell Captain Hornblower about her _other_ set of exploits. She was certain there would be a right time, but not this early on. Perhaps once they had reached a first-name basis.

When Alice departed for China a week later, the ball and its case were given pride of place on her desk. And one year later, when Alice was preparing to strike out with her mother, she chose to reflect the change by having her hair cut to match the style of the captain who had come before her.


End file.
